


Slight Of Hand

by thwax



Series: Freehand Sequence [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Light BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-14
Updated: 2006-06-16
Packaged: 2018-05-20 09:42:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 37
Words: 167,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6001339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thwax/pseuds/thwax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story is a sequel to Hand to Hand Combat, so this summary contains spoilers for said fic. It was written after the publication of Order of the Phoenix.</p><p>Voldemort is dead, and as a result, Harry Potter is a Freehand: an obscure branch of witches and wizards unable to use conventional wands, who must use their bodies to project their magic. Moreover, Harry is sleeping with Draco Malfoy, a difficult affair for which he has no label. Returning to school after the Christmas Holidays, Harry has to face revelations in his private life and in his public as the influence of Lucius Malfoy makes itself known.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Preparations

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [beren_writes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/beren/pseuds/beren), my excellent beta reader.

Where had that bloody dustpan got itself stuck now?!

Harry could hear what sounded like wails of distress coming from the enchanted item, which, although supposed to 'clean your room without the aid of hand or wand', had demonstrated more of a propensity for getting wedged in difficult to reach areas of his cottage and bleating. Harry had bought the item, designed for squibs who couldn't enchant their own tools, because he didn't yet trust his Freehand magic to clean rather than cause chaos. One term of practice, hindered practice at that, given Aleyn de la Folle's private agenda for binding rather than helping her student, had made the wandless wizard's skills erratic at best, and the few spells he'd managed at the end of the Autumn term had not instilled him with confidence. However, having already rescued the dustpan a dozen times already, Harry was beginning to think that maybe the Muggle way of sweeping would have been easier: it would certainly have involved less crawling on the floor and upending of furniture to save the adventurous little pan. With a sigh, he scanned the living room and tried to work out where the sound was coming from this time.

Yet, the dustpan was going to have to wait, because, after two hours of cleaning, Harry was more than ready for a distraction, which came in the form of a loud knock at the door. First, Harry jumped; he wasn't used to visitors to his isolated little house in the Scottish Highlands, but then he grinned: his delivery had arrived. Excitedly, he headed to the door, and yanked it open, his grin still plastered across his face. The smile sagged as he looked out where the deliveryman's head should have been at empty air; there was no-one outside, just his garden with its little wall separating him from the wild Highlands. Yet, the hermitage had been disturbed, because the soggy leaves left on the ground after the Autumn were swirling in an otherwise still atmosphere. They glittered in the thin winter light, tumbling over each other and only gradually descending back to the mulch from which they had come. Harry's eyes followed them, and then his grin came back.

On the doorstep was a hefty-looking box with a large, cardboard label tied to it. Harry ripped the tag off and then kicked himself as he read it:

'Mr H. Potter, Whirlwind Wizard Deliveries would like to thank you for your order.'

The youth's Muggle upbringing had led him to assume that 'Whirlwind' was merely a descriptive term.

Reminding himself that wizards took things far more literally, Harry grabbed his box and dragged it into the warm house. Puffing a little from the exertion, he closed the door, stood back and looked at the sealed parcel. It was larger than he'd expected, he hadn't realised how much he had bought on his pre-Christmas trip to Diagon Alley, how much he had bought especially for tonight. His heart beat that little bit faster as he thought about the evening. Malfoy hadn't actually said anything after Harry had made his invitation-come-threat, he'd just left, giving no indication if Harry was going to have to follow through on his menace. The idea of actually searching out his lover appealed to his darker passions: he'd thought that idea through long and hard, in more ways than one. However, until evidence suggested otherwise, Harry was preparing things on the principle that Draco would be coming to him.

The cottage, hapless dustpan aside, was now spick and span, which after the mess it had been was quite a feat. Since getting back to his cottage a few days after Christmas, Harry had been very studious, incredibly studious in fact, having crammed five days work into three so that he could forget about all his homework for the New Year holiday. Things were actually going quite well: Transfigurations practice had meant that many a cushion and one poor unsuspecting bat, who'd been hibernating in his roof, had changed shape without any fatality on the bat's part, which Harry had thought a big improvement on the minor explosions of the last week of term; Defence Against the Dark Arts had been more problematic, because he hadn't been able to borrow any of the wilder assignments from last term, but Professor Lupin had provided Harry with some exercises to strengthen his skills for next term, and he'd been very proud of the Patronus stag which had returned to him after many hours of stubborn battle with the spell; Herbology had been mainly theory, since Professor Sprout did not allow her plants out of her greenhouse and Charms had been surprisingly successful when things didn't catch fire due to some mechanism in his psyche that Harry had not managed to yet track down; Potions, as always had proved to be the most difficult subject, and Harry had made his kitchen look like it had met with an angry dragon. However, that was all gone now, the kitchen was spotless and waiting for him to prepare dinner.

Dinner: Harry had begun to wonder if following potions' instructions was maybe easier than the recipes he'd been scouring in Molly Weasley's cookbooks. There had been an interesting moment at the Burrow over Christmas when Molly had caught him making notes, but he'd flicked from the more exotic dishes to a basic recipe for stew and had said he was trying to make sure Madame Pomfrey didn't tell him off for not eating properly again. After that, Molly had been very helpful, for almost an hour, and although Harry had been grateful for all the recipes for good staple fare, he'd been glad when she'd been called away by her only daughter, and he'd been able to turn back to his real interest. Trying to impress, he may have been, but Harry was aware of his limitations, and so he'd chosen his dishes carefully. The ingredients for a fairly simple red wine casserole were in the parcel along with everything else.

Thoughts of the dinner led back to thoughts of the reason for the dinner, and Harry stood and stared at the box a while longer as his mind wandered over the confused mixture of arousal and nerves. Draco Malfoy, his enemy or his friend: Harry couldn't make up his mind, not when he thought about the relentlessly heartless way Malfoy had pursued him, even in light of the mutually arousing affair that had latterly led to this evening? For this night, it didn't matter one way or the other to Harry, for now the term 'lover' could cover any uncertainties he had about the relationship. He hadn't quite labelled this meeting as a date, hanging on to the fact that he had actually threatened Malfoy to make it, but his preparations were suggesting even to his stubbornly confused mind that maybe it was. Not thinking too hard about that, Harry knelt down and, with a wave of his hand, cast, "Diffindo!"

Magic ran from his tip to his toe, and the addictive arcing made him smile, as the box's seal split perfectly from one end to the other: Malfoy could have an effect on his Freehanding even when he was only a memory.

Christmas had been great fun at the Burrow: wrapping paper and parcels and chaos everywhere, and Harry had been sad to leave. Yet this much plainer box of delights was one of the reasons he had quit the Weasley household, and his heart was beating faster for very different reasons to the family fun of a few days ago. Not really remembering everything he had ordered, Harry pulled back the lid. His anticipation grew as he was faced with more boxes, this time bearing the names of the shops at which he had placed orders. The Witches' Pantry, where he had got one of the assistants to feed Ron pastries while he surreptitiously handed over a shopping list. Grunherr's Grocery had been more difficult, since it offered no such sweet distractions, so he'd had to ditch his best friend before dropping that list in. The shop called, Candle Magic, would not have been high on Harry's list if it had not been for a chance conversation with Ginny the day before their trip on the subject of atmosphere; the girl had had no idea that she was giving advice, well, at least, not about how to entertain a male lover, but candles had come high on her list of useful items, so her tutee had spent a good half hour in the shop that had been crowded with wax. Harry ran his hand over the rather large box of candles and wondered if he hadn't gone overboard on that piece of gospel.

Harry had been taking rather a lot of Ginny's advice lately, since she had turned out to be the fount of knowledge where other halves were concerned. Unlike her brother, who had only ever had eyes for one woman, Ginny had gone through enough boyfriends to make a Quidditch team, and once she had gathered that Harry was interested, she had been free with her suggestions. Of course, he was adapting them from his friend's assumption that he was looking at dating girls. _Dating_, there it was again, a new assumption in the scheme of things, and Harry pondered it once more. There had never been anything vaguely date-like about his encounters with his lover at school: Malfoy had made preparations on occasions, but they had had more to do with games than classic date-like romance, and Harry had generally just gone with the flow. Working so hard to impress in ways other than the freehand magic Draco liked to see him use had never occurred to the hormonal teenager before, and the idea made him nervous.

Butterflies began in his stomach, and the more he thought about things, the stronger they became, but there were still lots of things to be done and so Harry swatted a few nerves and grabbed for the foodstuffs, which sat at the top of the parcel, and then his box of candles. That was when a few flutterings turned into a full-blown swarm: Harry had known the midnight-black box had to have been present, there was no way he would forget his visit to Knockturn Alley, but as he looked at the brandless, discrete surface, the hot feelings which had accompanied this spending spree came back in full force. He ran his fingers over the top of the box and took a hasty breath as his groin responded to the thought of its contents. This package was from Pandora's Box, a place Seamus had mentioned during one of the dorm's manly talks, a place which provided for all lovers' needs.

Harry had taken five minutes to work up the courage to go inside, at which point he had been blushing furiously and had wrapped his everyday cloak around his lower body. This did not seem to phase the young witch who had smiled at him from behind the counter before he had ducked around one of the large shelf units in the centre of the room. He'd been looking for lube and maybe some body oils, but had found a whole host of other distractions, which did not help the reason for which he was keeping himself wrapped up. After ten minutes of gawping, the fascinated shopper had been joined by the proprietress, who had politely asked if she could be of assistance.

It had taken a few minutes of cajoling to get the embarrassed youth to admit exactly what he was planning for, but after that she had been most helpful. Some of Ginny's more raucous suggestions about how to get your boyfriend/girlfriend where you wanted them had seemed incredibly innocent when compared with the matter-of-fact advice given by the knowledgeable shopkeeper (whose name was Sybil, not Pandora). No kink had seemed to shock her, in fact she suggested a few more as she helped with a far more extensive shopping spree than Harry had previously conceived; the box of toys and aids was not quite as large as the candle box, but variety was not going to be a problem.

Staring and daydreaming was not a productive combination, and the urge to open the parcel hit the knowledge in Harry that he had other things to do besides entertaining his libido; reminding himself that things would be even better that evening if he got all the preparations done, he quickly extracted the box and dropped it over the back of the sofa onto the cushions and out of the way of his wavering self-control. After that there were only a few more items, a table cloth and other niceties that he had not needed before.

As he pulled out the last item, the delivery container made a popping noise. Harry knelt back as the sides began to bow in, wondering if he'd accidentally cast a spell at it, but he had no need to be concerned. The popping noise happened again, and the box folded in on itself, once then twice, then three times until it was a small block of cardboard. Then it flipped over, and a label was revealed which said, 'Please leave outside your door for collection.'

Harry duly obeyed the instructions, and felt the first breath of wind as he closed the door. That was the packaging sorted: that just left the scattered contents, which were now all over his living room floor. He went for the foodstuffs first.

* * *

Harry wasn't the most domestic of young men, and cooking had not been high on his hermit-life's agenda. If he had eaten, it had tended to be chunks of cheese, or something from a tin, and more than one saucepan, let alone oven dishes, was a new experience. He quickly decided that following a cook's recipe was even more difficult than potions, and involved many new terms he didn't understand. Preparing the vegetables for the casserole was fairly easy, just involving a peeler, a knife and a chopping board, but when the recipe demanded that he 'seal' the meat, he'd been stuck, and had wished he'd copied the glossary from the back of Molly's cook book as well as the recipe. Luckily, his domestic goddess had been in her kitchen when Harry had appeared in her fire, and had cleared up the confusion and praised him for his enterprise.

After the food-shopping had been turned into a meal, Harry moved his attention to the candles. He'd bought big ones, small ones, tall, thin, short, fat, enchanted and ordinary, and with care, he placed them around the two rooms in which he wanted to create atmosphere, the living room and the bedroom. It was already dark on the Highland Winter afternoon by the time Harry finished his arranging, but the candles were not for lighting yet, instead he relied on a couple of lamps. The host had something more impressive in mind for the candles, and he picked one to practice on. It was a very plain candle, off-white and about two inches in diameter by four inches tall. Harry placed it on the table and took a few steps away.

Setting fire to things was something the Freehand did by accident, or when his emotions were raised: Transfigurations last term had proved that. Finesse was not a word that went with such minor mishaps, but Harry was determined to change that. Consciously, he tried to relax: however twisted her reasons, Aleyn had, at least taught him that with his body as the tool, he had to pay attention to it, and tension made him inaccurate when trying anything new. Lighting a candle was a first year ability, but Harry was under no illusions about how far backwards he had slipped when it came to the application of all he had learnt during his years at Hogwarts. Carefully, he let the rush inside him up to the surface and cast, "Flammo."

There resulted the sound of sizzling wax, and the wizard winced as he watched the pristine candle give off sparks, and then flames, and then lose all cohesion. The puddle of wax put out its own fire, and as he walked over to examine the disaster, Harry decided that it was a good job he had bought enough candles to spare.

Five candles in varying degrees of disintegration later, Harry had managed to light just the wick, albeit with a pop of exploding air. He continued to tone down his effort until the surviving candle lit with only the slightest whisper of the spell. At this point the Freehand tried to expand the candle magic to levitation. Two concepts at once was seriously pushing Harry's meagre abilities, but it was amazing how much of an incentive the memory of an impressed and aroused Malfoy could be. He nearly set fire to the curtains when he tried a couple of candles at once and got the placement wrong, but eventually, he had selectively levitated two candles into position and lit three at once. It was at this point that the youth noticed the clock on his mantelpiece and realised time had gone on without him. It was six o'clock, and, abandoning the candles where he had left them, Harry dashed into the kitchen to put the casserole in the oven.

Then there was the table to lay, and the wine to uncork, and the wood pile next to the fire to stock, and the dustpan to rescue, which seemed to have gone dormant under a footstool when he hadn't recovered it earlier. And, finally, there was the big black box on the sofa. Smiling to himself as he concluded that everything else was ready, and that he had a little time left to devote to its contents, Harry picked up his box of delights.

* * *

Harry stood in the shower and let the water cascade down through his thick hair, massaging his scalp and washing away the dust of the day. He hadn't pushed any limits with the cleaning, he did more exercise in one Quidditch game, but his muscles were a little tired and glad of the pulsing jets which he moved quickly onto his back. The water wasn't the only thing to be pulsing, however, and Harry looked down at the erection he had been cultivating since opening Pandora's Box. Pure anticipation had started his arousal as he had taken out and installed his purchases around his house, handy for a convenient summons or ready for use: hot and horny, he had decided to finish it in the shower.

His cock throbbed as Harry thought about the one thing he had yet to prepare: himself. He closed his eyes and let the sensation run right through him and it did the job he hoped it would as he felt his magic respond. The Freehand wasn't sure what flicked the switch inside which meant his energy came into line with his arousal, but since that first unhappy betrayal of body when he had discovered what Malfoy could make him feel, he had come to appreciate his instincts. Harry murmured as invisible touches stroked up his erection, shivering with the shots of pleasure that ran down his legs and up his spine.

In his mind's eye, he saw his lover, smiling in the intoxicatingly superior way he had about him, challenging his passions: he groaned as long, elegant fingers took more definite hold of his shaft and began to massage. This was the desire that had been thwarted in the broom cupboard, that had inspired the arrangements for this evening, and that his imagination had tried to fulfil many times since his last look at Malfoy before the holidays. A hand slid between his thighs, and Harry leant against the wall for support as he moved to give his remembered lover access to anything he wanted. The touch was perfect, just a little harder than gentle, enough to make him light-headed and aware of the strength of his partner, but soft enough to wake every nerve ending. The dreamer gasped as he was cupped and squeezed in one hand and fondled along his length with the other.

It wouldn't take much more: his heart was racing adrenaline round his system, his lungs were tight with anticipation, and his arousal was straining for climax. Harry reached the edge and fell right over it, and he choked on the exclamation that accompanied the waves of sensation. His saw bright spots, he shuddered with the pleasure of it, and he relaxed into the satisfaction of it, but as Harry opened his eyes, he lost touch with the memory of Malfoy all too quickly.

Reality wasn't an unhappy place, just a little disappointed, and anticipation for the real man barrelled back in to fill any hole that Harry's imagination had left. He smiled to himself, letting the shivers and tingles stop in their own time, savouring the dissipating hotness and thinking about when he'd be facing a substantial Draco Malfoy. Those thoughts reminded him that he should be making preparations, not indulging his libido, or maybe they were one and the same thing, because Harry's stomach did a little somersault as he reached for the jar on his soap bowl that he had extracted from the box of sex supplies. The youth had taken Draco's erotic lesson on cleanliness to heart, and his instruction on the art of washing had introduced Harry to new concepts of what being spotless actually meant. Sybil had understood exactly where he had been going when he'd mentioned his partner liking him clean, and after he'd told her that he didn't trust his own ability with spells of such a delicate nature, she had gone right for this little pot.

It looked innocuous enough, and without his glasses he couldn't read the small print on the outside of the jar, but he didn't need to, he'd read it five times before getting into the shower. The instructions were simple, apply the contents of the pot to a wet cloth or sponge and then apply to yourself, and the spell in the soap would do the rest; Harry wasn't quite sure what 'the rest' would entail, but Sybil had winked at him when she'd recommended the potion and pointed at the big red, flashing warning on the ceramic which told the user to brace their position before application. Remembering the bruises he'd had on each knee after Draco's ablutions, Harry knelt slowly into the protective concave of the bath. He let the more distant spouts of water spatter over his body for a while, gathering the courage to try this new experience, and wondering why it was so much more difficult without Malfoy's daring influence: it wasn't that Draco's presence made him feel safer, quite the opposite in fact, but the contest in their relationship always dwarfed any qualms.

Yet, thinking and worrying was not what had brought Harry to this point, and he wasn't exactly reluctant, just excited. Taking a deep breath, he unstoppered the jar and drew in a lungful of fresh-scented soap. It didn't smell at all exotic, but the hairs on Harry's arms were standing on end as he poured a helping of the glutinous contents out onto a flannel. The clear liquid lathered easily under the shower as he squeezed the flannel between his fingers, and where it bubbled over his hand, Harry felt the magic: this was no natural water: it ran down over the back of his hand, and then, against gravity, up his arm, clinging to his flesh, swirling and stroking every pore as it went. Wondering if he should have applied the potion before he had over-sensitised his genitals, Harry took a deep breath and then flattened the cloth against his chest.

The washer managed a few wipes over his chest and over his back before the foam tumbled down his body and found places that took away motor control. He dropped the flannel and grabbed the sides of the bath as the application revealed itself as more ruthless than Malfoy. Bubbles fell over each other, bursting and releasing the magic wherever they touched flesh: Harry tried to breathe deeply, but he could manage no more than a few irregular gasps. The lather eddied around his balls and down his legs and, Oh Merlin when it trickled down his spine and found the cleft of his arse! Harry groaned.

Never had bubbles been so demanding, and they showed no mercy on his hypersensitive cock. Little bright spots warned the experimenter that he shouldn't have been playing with two sorts of sex magic so close together, and then the adventure took on whole new dimensions. The self-willed lather had dribbled down over his buttocks and all the way into his cleft, swirling its tiny, but wonderfully insistent strokes everywhere it touched, and Harry leant forward as it massaged around his entrance. He didn't know these invisible fingers, but he knew what they wanted, and he relaxed under their attentions. A little give was all the cleanser needed and he gasped as the spell entered his body. It wasn't like his partner's penetration, the touch was light and delicate, not filling him, just applying enough pressure to do its job.

Harry moaned and sighed and shivered as the potion completed its task with erotic thoroughness. It cleaned him from his head to his toes, although the designer seemed to have concentrated the formula at the middle ground to an extent that its user was barely aware of his toes. Harry wasn't sure how long the cleansing lasted, he was in la-la land where his dick and his prostate were feeding him so much input he could barely stand it. Yet, before his brain dribbled out of his ears, things began to reduce in intensity. The bubbles didn't disperse all at once, they relinquished their power to virgin water slowly, leaving nerve endings all over Harry's body sitting up and taking notice. He was shuddering uncontrollably still as the last of the lather disappeared down the plug hole along with any trace of dirt: as he let his body settle away from the incredible experience, Harry was glad he was already on his knees, but found his mind wondering how many uses were in that little jar.

Shaky, Harry managed to turn off the shower and climb out a minute or so later, and then, grabbing a towel, sat down on the toilet seat and gave himself a while longer to rerun the episode.

* * *

Clean was one thing, but Harry was planning on a whole lot more than just clean. So, high on endorphins, and right in the mood for some more adventure, Harry had headed up to his bedroom. There he was, still standing after five minutes, staring at the items he had left himself on the dressing table. It was one thing to enjoy the thought of something when a friendly shop assistant was egging you on, and it was quite another to decide if you wanted to be making such a statement, especially to a Malfoy.

Two pairs of differently sized gold-coloured bands looked unusual, but innocuous enough on a man's bedroom table, until, that was, one knew exactly what they were. Excited, and a little wary, Harry picked up one of the plain pieces of jewellery. Slave bands: no more than an interesting role-play game to Sybil, but then she did not know his lover's tendency to take games to their limit. Yet, Harry would not have bought them if the idea had not appealed, and his groin pulsed as he thought about the implications of putting them on.

The bands were more versatile than self-fixing manacles: not only did they adhere to any surface, or each other, but the set could also produce several formats of chains and bars between them at the will of whoever wasn't wearing them. They came with a safety word option, but that would have been cheating; anyway, Harry doubted that Malfoy would leave him with the ability to use it even if he did activate it.

Wondering if he was one spell short of a spell book, but enjoying the thrill that went through his body as he did so, Harry slipped one of the smaller bands over his hand; he breathed very hard several times as it slowly shrunk in diameter to exactly fit his wrist, the inch of metal pressing against his skin just enough to remind him what he had done. The second one made his heart miss a beat, and by the time he had slid on the ankle bands as well, Harry's pulse was racing. He looked at himself in the mirror, pulling away his towel to gauge the full effect of naked body controlled by four glinting strips and the sensible part of his brain wanted to tear them off, but another part decided that with a little manipulation, he was going to light as many fires as he wanted in his lover.

Narrowly missing a Narcissus moment, Harry turned from the mirror and looked at the second item that was unusual for a man's dressing table. The small slip of waxed paper contained a black knot-work design of incredible intricacy, which filled out roughly the shape of an inverted triangle. It was body art, wizard-style, and once Sybil had explained how it worked, Harry had swiftly added it to his basket.

Picking up the paper, he used the mirror once more to carefully place the design face-down against his tailbone, the point of the triangle touching the very top of his cleft. A whispered word of activation, and Harry felt every strand of the design transfer to his skin, and as he pulled the paper away, the tattoo glistened at him, almost as though it were moving. A moment's thought, and the wizard realised it was moving, and that he could feel the interweaving strands rubbing against each other and his skin. It sent a buzz right through his body and he began to think that Sybil was the best friend a sex maniac could have.

The titillating underwear in place, Harry moved his attention to more conventional clothing, which he had laid out on the bed before beginning his shower. He'd selected it carefully with Draco's attention to presentation in mind. In fact, Harry had done a little more than select from his existing wardrobe; on the Christmas shopping trip to Diagon Alley, he had conned Ginny, the person he thought would have the best fashion sense, into helping him select some new clothes 'for Christmas'. The girl had been only too pleased to help once again, and he had listened carefully to her lectures on coordination and style, although some of it had sounded more like a foreign language. Still, he'd selected an entire outfit with his friend's guidance and he'd been happy with the result when he'd come out of the dressing room and Ginny's eyes had nearly popped out of her head.

Harry had been rather impressed himself: he'd never before taken much notice of what he wore, or if it made an impression, but the black chinos, wine shirt and long-line, midnight jacket had set off the green in his eyes very nicely. That night he would be dispatching with the use of the jacket, and the shoes, and the socks, and the normal underwear that he'd been wearing at the Weasley house on Christmas day; in fact, he'd thought about greeting his lover naked during early planning stages, but barely dressed had gradually begun to appeal as he'd spent long nights thinking about hands running under his clothing to get what they wanted: the trousers and shirt would hide the slave bands and tattoo nicely as discoveries for later in the evening.  



	2. Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco visits...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [beren_writes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/beren/pseuds/beren), my excellent beta reader.

Washed, thoroughly: dressed, more or less: brushed as best as his hair ever could be: shaved and wearing aftershave that Hermione had given him for Christmas; Harry gave himself one more check over in the mirror. Normally he and his bedroom mirror had an indifferent relationship: they met once a day for a quick flattening of unflattenable hair and that was about it, but this time, he dallied longer. Malfoy was having a definite effect on his vanity. He tugged at the bottom of his shirt, making sure it was laying flat, and played with the buttons, trying to decide if open to the navel was too forward or not; he decided not, and with a lustful grin, adjusted his collar so that it caught the edge of his thick hair.  
  
Finally, he picked up the empty black box from the chair where he'd thrown it and slid it under the bed; it was as he released it that Harry heard the Apparate crack outside his front door, and his stomach started doing somersaults. Yet there was no time for second-thoughts and Harry dived for the stairs. One foot was on the living room carpet and the other on the last stair-tread when the magical arrival was followed by a more conventional knock on the door. Everything landed in Harry's head at once: answering the door; lighting the candles; pouring the wine that had been breathing on the small dining table by the window. He latched onto the most important point first, that of letting his guest in, and the Freehand held his arm up to the door and instructed, "Alohomora!"  
  
The wave of magic added to his already unbridled libido, making him smile, but as the door opened, his anticipation leapt right into perspective. Draco Malfoy had always made an impression with Harry, whether it was hatred or desire, but as his eyes ran over the tall, richly cloaked figure who stepped into his front room, past impressions paled in comparison.  
  
It was snowing outside, that much was obvious from the flakes glistening in the dim light on the midnight-black cloak and ermine trim, but the night was silent behind him as Draco swept back the deep hood and his gaze locked Harry to the spot. Without his conscious consent, Harry's magic decided that it wasn't finished with him, and it responded to the re-establishing connection by forgetting all the careful practice he had put in: the candles on the surfaces either side of his guest lit spontaneously and then with a rush of air that matched the storm in his body, the flames leapt from wax neighbour to neighbour until every one was glowing.  
  
The magic took his breath away, quite literally, and, gasping, Harry tried to regain his equilibrium as his show of power lifted the enchanted candles into the air and finally put out the lamp which was now just in the way. Draco smiled intimately, his eyes flashing with the display, which he clearly knew he had inspired, and he began, "Practice makes perfect, Harry."  
  
The mild amusement that accompanied the compliment restored any balance that Harry was missing, at least, in his magic, and he straightened his shoulders with one last intake of breath and greeted more coherently, "Good evening, Draco."  
  
Away from school, the personal name felt strange, but right, as Harry realised he'd been thinking it for a while. His companion registered the change in address as well, if he read the twitch of eyebrow correctly, but Harry wasn't given a chance for a better look, because suddenly Draco's attention was gone from him. Feeling slightly deserted, Harry watched as his guest looked around the room and asked with just a hint of annoyance in his voice, "Well, I had to cancel a long-standing engagement to be here, so tell me, why should I stay?"  
  
"Colloportus!" the Freehand intoned immediately: the door slammed shut and sealed with the familiar squelching noise.  
  
Draco looked at the door, then at Harry and frowned.  
  
"That is neither convincing, nor will it be effective in keeping me here," he snarked.  
  
"But it's a start," Harry continued, his competitive streak coming out: if Malfoy wanted a fight to start the evening, he could have one.  
  
Yet a short pause revealed no more comment, and so he walked up to his visitor; he reached straight for the clip which was holding Draco's cloak closed and offered, "Let me take that for you."  
  
The look that he was given as he unfastened the heavy cloth said everything that Draco wouldn't: he was conflicted. From experience, Harry knew his lover did not appreciate being summoned, by magic or any other means, and the threat was sat right in the centre of the hostility that was being aimed at him, but another spark was fighting for control, and Harry was more than satisfied that his attention to detail had worked the way he had wanted it to: Draco had hormones too. He stared defiantly into those aristocratic grey eyes as he deliberately reached right round Malfoy's back to hook the cloak off his far shoulder, rubbing his chest against the soft ermine as he did so and making his intentions all too clear.  
  
However, it wasn't until he stood back again, cloak in hand, that his companion decided what to do about the advance: he smiled. Yet it wasn't a nice gesture, it was a challenge, and Harry knew he'd lost control. Draco held out an old bottle to him, which he took, and as he glanced at the peeling, dusty label that he thought was in French, he was told, "Alright, Harry, your place, my rules."  
  


* * *

  
  
The game was 'Drive Harry Crazy', but he wasn't too clear on the rules: Draco had taken a seat on the far end of the sofa what seemed like an eternity ago, but could have been little more than minutes if the clock was correct; he had helped himself to a glass of wine while Harry hung up his cloak and then put the bottle of very expensive cognac on the side for later, and he had even poured Harry a glass as well; then he'd started talking.  
  
Harry had expected at least a lip-lock by now, maybe some under-the-shirt-groping. Talking was not what they did, they were worst enemies with as much common ground as a desert mandricoot and a merman. Yet his guest was stretched out at the furthest point away from his seat, sipping wine and finding the most boring common ground Harry thought he had ever heard. Well, actually, he wasn't hearing very much of it (although he was more or less aware that Draco was going on about the Potter and Malfoy histories, about which he seemed to know an awful lot) because Harry was very easily distracted by the eye-candy in front of him.  
  
Harry had started at the face, where he was supposed to be focusing, but Draco's eyes had been sending him signals that just didn't go with the deathly conversation. The only time he'd responded to the come hither stare, he'd been pushed back down into his seat and told to behave: so, at least, for the moment, his body was behaving, so far as not touching went, anyway, but parts of his anatomy were throbbing remorselessly as anticipation got the better of him.  
  
Harry knew Draco was playing him, and enjoying it immensely, and his only revenge was to drag his eyes over every inch of the languid form before him. It was the long hair, carefully styled to fall effortlessly over his shoulders that first led Harry's gaze away from the frustrating set to Draco's handsome features. He'd followed one stray bang down onto the expensively tailored, contrasting, dark green jacket. It was a very well cut piece of cloth, accentuating the line of Draco's long body and suggesting the grace beneath: Harry's eyes had run all over it, catching glimpses of the black poet-shirt beneath as his guest moved less than innocently. The breaches that matched the jacket fitted Draco's legs very well, and slipped into laced riding boots at the knee. However, the watcher had not rested on the shining leather for very long, since, quite clearly aware of the distraction he was causing, Malfoy had leisurely shifted position to drape one ankle over the other knee: the resultant spread of legs had drawn Harry's attention right up to a groin that was suggesting he wasn't the only one enjoying the view.  
  
He was still focused on the prominence in his guest's trousers, wondering at the back of his mind how good Malfoy's self-control would prove to be, when there was an interruption in the flow of words. He more or less noted the short halt, but it wasn't until Draco shifted once more, crossing his legs knee-to-knee and placing an arm in the voyeur's way of his erogenous zone that Harry looked up and noted the raise of Draco's eyebrows.  
  
"Well?" he was asked, and when he returned a blank look, Draco laughed at him and taunted, "It is incredibly rude to ignore your guest's conversation, Potter."  
  
Harry wasn't a subtle lover, and he showed his lust, coupled with his frustration in is glare: Draco just smiled indulgently at him and took a sip of wine.  
  
"If you didn't pick such boring subjects, I might be listening," Harry countered, although, he doubted it.  
  
"One has to have a sense of heritage in order to look to the future," Draco chided.  
  
"Much more of your sense of heritage and I'll stop behaving," the host warned.  
  
"Now, now, my rules remember, Harry. I have more to teach you than how to shag."  
  
The flash of grey irises did nothing to help Harry's will-power, and he snarked, "What could I possibly want to learn from you?"  
  
Draco took the petulance well, but then he was winning whatever this game was. He continued to smile, and Harry had to sit on the urge to kiss those curling lips.  
  
"The Art of Conversation, for one," Malfoy informed the listener.  
  
Harry shifted in his seat and scowled as his groin pulsed remorselessly, which only made Draco's smile more intimate as he added, "Don't discount it, you never know when you might need it."  
  
"The only conversation I'll ever need is, 'You're under arrest.'," the would-be Auror argued, beginning to wonder whether this game was worth playing any more.  
  
"Gryffindors," the Slytherin rolled his eyes and stretched out in his seat in a way that had Harry working out how to pounce, "so innocent," that squashed a little bit of Harry's libido for a moment as he frowned questioningly: he saw himself as far from innocent. "Naive," Draco corrected with a smirk. "You think the world of the Auror is without politics and networking?"  
  
"I'll manage."  
  
"So you'll be happy running around like Moody for the rest of your life?"  
  
"He's a well respected Auror," Harry countered at the dismissal he heard in his companion's voice.  
  
"And he's precisely nowhere in the scheme of things," Draco sneered.  
  
"Without people like him our lives would be a whole lot more dangerous," Harry defended his fellow Order member hotly.  
  
"So you'd be content to spend the rest of your life running around after people like Aleyn de la Folle?" Malfoy challenged.  
  
Harry put down his glass with a smash that threatened to break it: this game was definitely no longer worth playing as his arousal took a dive at the mention of one of his nightmares.  
  
"Dinner should be ready by now," he ducked right out of the murderous thoughts the mere mention of the woman conjured in him.  
  
Harry stood up and headed to the kitchen, not caring about the prying look that Malfoy was giving him. Only when he bent to the oven and pulled out the casserole did he realise he had been followed.  
  
"Still a little touchy about her, aren't we, Harry?" his guest tested, the look in his eyes not at all friendly as he leant against the doorpost, watching the domesticity.  
  
"Drop it," Harry warned, turning his back as he found a serving spoon.  
  
"Voldemort never had this effect on you. What exactly did she do to you, Harry?" Draco didn't let it drop, in fact his tone suggested he was going to keep digging.  
  
"Silencio!" Harry cast angrily, and Malfoy actually took a step backwards as he was hit by the spell.  
  
His guest clearly hadn't been expecting such a vehement reaction, but his shock was veiled by something else, something which said Draco had registered how much the woman's mention affected Harry: he knew he'd just revealed far too much in front of the still largely unknown quantity that was Draco Malfoy, but there was nothing Harry could do about it now, so with one final repeat of, "Drop it," he withdrew the spell and turned back to what he'd been doing.  
  


* * *

  
  
Dinner began in silence without the need for any spells: Harry was trying to put the thoughts of Aleyn back into their safe compartment in his brain, and Draco was watching him, too closely for comfort. Draco didn't seem at all perturbed by Harry's behaviour, if anything, he seemed intrigued as he watched Harry lay their plates while refusing to meet his companion's eye-line. Draco retrieved their glasses and the wine bottle from the coffee table by the fire and they sat down. Harry took a gulp of wine, still not daring to look all the way up into the eyes which read him so easily. He didn't really taste the first few mouthfuls of food either, as his mind remained elsewhere. However, Draco did, and he offered a casual lifeline out of memories as he complimented, "This is good, Harry. You have more hidden talents that I'd given you credit for."  
  
Not sure if the praise was genuine, Harry had to glance up, and the inquisition was gone from at least the surface: Malfoy seemed sincere.  
  
"Thank you," he accepted awkwardly, but, as Aleyn was left behind once more, he continued, "I am good for a few things, as well as a shag."  
  
Draco grinned at the tones Harry added to his voice, but still he did nothing about the come on: the host took another mouthful of food, tasted it this time and had to agree with his guest that it was rather good, but that the stabs of desire, which had begun once more in his groin, were even better.  
  
"How's the self-control, Harry?" Draco teased, leaning a little way over the table.  
  
"Bread?" Harry returned, trying to keep any emotion out of voice as his hand picked up the basket of rolls when all he really wanted to do was grab his lover and show him how much self-control really mattered.  
  
Anticipation was one thing, but this game was torture.  
  


* * *

  
  
Teasing, it was painfully apparent to Harry, was also something Draco considered an art form, and the blond Adonis was really making him pay for the use of threats. As he sat and watched his guest savouring each morsel on his plate, having left his own food to go cold some time ago, Harry was beginning to wonder why he had gone along with this game. It was certainly adding to his arousal, to the extent that his trousers were proving restrictive: he was acutely aware of every move that his lover was making, every look, every smile as his libido etched all the signals on his brain, and there was only so much expectation he could handle.  
  
Draco wasn't even halfway through his meal, and as the possibility of a very long and frustrating dinner stretched out in front of him, Harry decided it was time to mix food and fantasy. He wasn't going to lose this game: it was time to light some fires in his partner.  
  
Slowly, Harry slid his arm across the table towards his glass, making sure the fabric of his sleeve caught against the cloth below it. His cuff shifted up his arm, and the sliver of band on his wrist that it revealed glinted perfectly in the candlelight. Draco saw it, Harry caught the quick shift of eyes, and his heart beat that little bit faster as he thought about the dynamic he was intending to create. His Slytherin side coming out, Harry feigned ignorance of the move, and just picked up his glass, and used it to hide a small smile of satisfaction, as he gauged from the also half-hidden curiosity across the table, that he had at least gained his lover's attention.  
  
The hint made, the host surprised himself a little as the game began to appeal again: he let his sleeve slide back up over the metal and launched, "Alright then, this Art of Conversation, where do you begin?"  
  
Draco raised an eyebrow at the sudden interest, but Harry just rolled his wine glass between his palms and smiled at him over the rim. His guest put down his fork and leant back in his chair, superficially thinking about his reply, but Harry knew he was being reassessed.  
  
"It really depends on the circumstances in which you find yourself," Malfoy answered, sipping his own wine as his eyes narrowed on Harry.  
  
The hotness of the attention ran from Harry's head, all the way down to his groin, but as he chose to be the tease, the unrequited sensation developed new dimensions. He chuckled and observed, "Well, that's as clear as mud."  
  
"In what situation would you like to start?" Draco asked thickly, and the game stepped up a notch.  
  
Harry considered the proposal, which had very little to do with conversation, as he recognised the first flame in Malfoy's eyes. That which had gained his lover's interest could wait now, and he decided, "Say we were two strangers."  
  
Draco liked that idea if the lust in his features was anything to go by, but he still didn't move. Harry continued to play with his wine glass, setting it down and stroking the smooth surface, enjoying the fire he could almost feel building across the table.  
  
"Well, assuming we'd been introduced, I'd begin casually, looking for a connection by offering something from my own experience that could easily be in yours," his companion explained, and continued, "I had not expected the weather to be so severe this evening. Had you seen any reports which warned of the snow?"  
  
"The weather?" Harry smirked, but Draco maintained a polite look of enquiry and just waited for an in-role response; wondering if this was going to go anywhere, he more or less straightened the smirk and replied in his best Aunt Petunia accent, "No, I hadn't, but then I have not had cause to enquire on the matter."  
  
"I suppose being local, (I am assuming from the introduction that I know this) that it is less important to keep track of such things, but even we wizards must consider climatic effects when Apparating," the conversation continued dully, but the signals from Malfoy were anything but dull  
  
"I haven't had to consider that, I don't have my license yet," Harry answered, as the body-language moved further away from the subject matter: he pouted at his lover, and it _could_ have been interpreted as his opinion on not being able to Apparate.  
  
"Oh, but you are of age?" Draco looked somewhat startled, his eyes bright and his pale skin more flushed than from mere polite chit-chat.  
  
Harry just nodded, and the words that came out of his companion's mouth were, "Oh good, I am relieved," but his physical response was far more interesting.  
  
The host pushed his chair back as his guest stood up, but he didn't have time to get to his own feet as, very swiftly, Draco was around his side of the table and, at long last, lips met his own. Harry couldn't help it, he groaned as all the sexual tension that had been building inside him broke down in a rush that made his head spin. Draco just pressed harder and used the escape of sound to gain access with his tongue.  
  
The kiss didn't last long enough as far as Harry was concerned, even though he was trembling when his partner did pull away; he followed the departure, but a hand kept him in his seat and Draco's sensuous mouth was brought close to his ear as he continued the play, "Otherwise I would have felt bad about doing that."  
  
"But would it have stopped you?" Harry challenged breathily, and pushed his way to his feet.  
  
They were almost touching, but both men hovered on the edge of their passions, as one waited for a reply from the other. Draco was drawing air through his partially open mouth, his cheeks having gained more colour and his eyes sparkling with desire. Harry focused on the moist lips that were dark against his lover's milky skin, and watched them move as he was told, "What do you think?"  
  
He had been barely seventeen when this youth had attacked him, and it had never before occurred to Harry that his birthday could have been the watershed for which Draco had been waiting. It was an odd consideration, choosing assault as a medium for development, but caring about the age of wizarding consent; yet it made a perverse kind of sense as Harry thought about Slytherin spin on reducing fallout in the chance of discovery: if he was of age, it could be suggested the interchange, both magical and sexual, had been consensual. He didn't really like the fact that he could see the logic of the idea, and so, back where this had all begun, Harry ignored the memories: following his basest wants, he reached for his lover and started to make some new associations.


	3. Down to Bare Essentials

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Harry explore...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [beren_writes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/beren/pseuds/beren), my excellent beta reader

Draco's jacket didn't stand a chance as the deeper embrace evaporated any self-control Harry had left and his lover was not objecting to having it pushed off his shoulders. The shirt underneath was thin enough to allow Harry to feel the muscled torso he'd been missing, and his fingers danced all over it, refamiliarising himself with every hard curve. Draco tasted of the wine they had been drinking, and he smelt of the aftershave that never failed to make Harry heady (or maybe it was the associations he now held with that scent). It didn't matter which, as he rubbed and stroked and kissed and pressed until he began to tremble again with the input: he had been anticipating too much for far too long to give any less than everything he was feeling.

At least for the first few minutes, Harry thought his partner was feeling the same way, given the amount of reciprocation. However, as a jet of delight and its companion shiver almost caused Harry's legs to give way, Draco used his weakness to shove him away. The push was not too strong, and the two men were still in contact, if in a pose where one had locked his arms to keep the other away, and, confused, but still excited, Harry gasped in a few breaths and looked at his companion for an answer to the interruption.

Draco's smile said everything: he was scheming. Grey-blues ran up and down his body for a moment, and Harry couldn't help the new shudder which answered the attention. That seemed to please Draco even more, and he commented, "Well, well, Harry, I'll have to try this abstinence idea on you more often."

"You might bite off more than you can chew," Harry warned, rubbing his hands over the wrists in front of his shoulders insistently: his patience was non-existent now the tease had finally been broken, and he was considering a little force.

Yet, Draco got there first. With a dexterity that took Harry by surprise, his lover swivelled his lower arms in his loose grip so that the holding hands suddenly became the held, as Draco's fingers closed around his wrists. Harry's heart skipped a beat, but he didn't argue as the long digits stroked over the metal beneath his sleeves. Draco raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise, but Harry just grinned as he saw the flames go up a notch: he had selected his toys correctly. He stayed still, leaving his arms in full view as the grip loosened and slid his clothing up off his wrists, letting the discovery develop. Starts of erotic nervousness had begun in Harry as soon as the new game had been acknowledged by Draco, but the feelings doubled as the glinting metal was revealed, and his groin throbbed remorselessly as his lover's tongue ran unconsciously over his lips.

"Want to play, Draco?" Harry couldn't resist fanning the fire.

"Aren't you being a little bold to be wearing these?" Draco observed disdainfully, at once revealing that he recognised the slave bands for what they were and letting Harry see that he was more than interested.

"What would be the point of having them if I was going to do everything I'm told?" Harry tempted, enjoying the rush of adrenaline that the initiative gave him.

His lover didn't respond immediately, he considered what had been said as his fingers stroked the devices and his eyes shifted from one to the other.

"Interesting point," he decided after making Harry wait for long seconds that increased his heart rate still further; however, the high was nothing compared with the wave of excited desire that ran through him as Draco intoned, "Creo cantenum."

Chain appeared between the two wrist bands, and there was no going back. Yet, any caution about the situation into which he was putting himself was dwarfed by the abandon that the role play inspired in Harry. He didn't really think about what he was doing, he went with instinct, and the sparks in his belly led him to break the hold on his wrists and to hook the new links over Draco's head. As the chain settled around his lover's neck, he approved, "Good, you know how to use them."

"You expected any less?" Draco was still assessing the situation with his normal superiority.

However, he didn't resist as he was urged into another kiss by the metal at his neck. As his lips touched his partner's Harry let the pull go, and wound his fingers into Draco's soft hair, tilting his head a little to get the access he wanted. The lead was just too much, and after a moment where desire got the better of him, Draco broke the embrace again and complained, "Abcreo cantenum."

Harry took a step back as he was shoved away, his useful bonds dissolved, and smiled at the hands on hips stance that formed before him. Draco was clearly aroused, but seemed to be annoyed: Harry just waited for the reprimand he could see coming.

"Are you going to do anything you're told?"

"Possibly," the slave shrugged, and elaborated with relish, "depends if I get the right incentives. My place, my rules."

Draco raised an eyebrow as his quip was thrown back at him, but his annoyance disappeared into the challenge. His chin lifted and he glowered his lust as he countered, "Your rules or not, Slave, you don't get to wear clothes."

That took the hotness in Harry's body up another notch or two, but all he said, breathily, was, "Really?"

"Naked: now."

Harry met the dominance in his lover's eyes with veiled defiance; it wasn't that he didn't like the idea of stripping it was just that obedience was too easy. These were his rules, and he fancied igniting the tinderbox that was Draco's libido. He had all the bait he needed, and he dangled the hook with, "Make me."

Harry had thought he was ready for the hostility he was instigating, but Draco had read his body language, and had moved on him before the words were out of his mouth. He had no time to steady himself as a body barrelled into him, and he was pushed backwards. The back of his knees contacted with the padded arm of his chair, and he fell into the seat. He reached up to scrabble with his opponent, but it wasn't a body that followed him into the chair, it was a spell.

"Debilito!" Malfoy cursed, and Harry's limbs turned to lead.

He groaned as a wave of disorientation took him, and gave no resistance as Draco took the advantage he had created. Swift hands swivelled him properly into the seat, and then pulled at his clothing, removing his shirt before any muscle control came back at all. And even then, the prisoner only managed a minor flex of his arms before he heard, "Adhaereo."

As the dizziness and weakness abated, Harry found himself half-naked in his own slouch chair, his wrists fixed to the arms and the rest of his body semi-pinned to the cushions by an excited lover. Harry shifted and wriggled a while, defying the open mastery that he had inspired in Draco, maybe a little peeved that he had lost the contest thus far, but his lover spoke for both of them as he eventually breathed, "I like this game, Harry."

Trapped, Harry stopped fighting, and passively allowed his glasses to be removed. The world went fuzzy, but the look from Malfoy was still more than clear enough and he stared right back into it, daring the next move.

"When I give an order, I will be obeyed," Draco told him, running the point of his wand down Harry's chest: he sat very still, game or not, a wand was a dangerous weapon and the glint in Malfoy's eyes was not altogether friendly. "That's better, not so cocky now."

The goad found the Gryffindor bravado in Harry, and he quipped back, "Effective, but uninspiring."

Draco tutted, in itself just a mild disapproval, but then he reprimanded, "You really do have to be taught some manners, Slave."

Harry found himself watching the point of the wand that was now being wagged at him and wondering if he had let his mouth run away with him.

"Mico," his lover cast, and his words were followed by a low buzzing sound.

"What are you doing?" the captive asked as caution got the better of excitement.

Draco placed the fingers of his free hand against Harry's lips, and with a dangerous smile, leant in, whispering, "Shh, you have to learn."

Harry shifted again, not nearly as sure about the game as he had been a minute ago. But he was trapped, and Malfoy ignored the signs of disquiet, as he continued intimately, "At low power, the touch from a vibrating wand can be pleasurable."

His tormentor moved back a way and Harry started as the wood touched his skin and he felt its minute movements for the first time, but he settled into a murmur as the tingles ran divinely out from the centre of his chest. Draco dragged the wand-tip across his chest, and Harry groaned as it traced ecstasy over his pecs. Yet the feeling was nothing to the sensation when his lover ran the finely crafted weapon around one of his nipples: helplessly, Harry closed his eyes and let the breath rush out of his body.

"You see how good it can be when you're well behaved?" his master condescended. "Even if you've been a little bad and it goes up a level: Amplifico!"

Harry dug his fingers into the arms of the chair and drew in a very rapid breath as the vibrations got harder. The shock right next to one of his erogenous zones sent a mixture of pain and pleasure right through him, but he had to admit that it was mostly pleasure, and his shudders of response could not have failed to tell Draco exactly how much he was enjoying the touch. It was almost too much, but as the sweet torture threatened to become so, the manipulator withdrew from the sensitive nipple and began widely tracing over his chest again.

"Even when it goes up a level, it can be very good," Draco teased, drawling his words as he stroked his other hand over Harry's shoulder. "Do you like being good, Slave?"

Harry opened his eyes and stared into the open, intoxicated gaze close to his own; he certainly liked the results of 'being good', but it was too soon for his lover to have manipulated all the fight out of him. Draco continued to smile at his defiance, and murmured, "Still not quite there, are we, Harry? You know, there are several more settings for this spell, Amplifico!"

Harry grunted and shrank away from the suddenly sharp feel of the wand; yet, it followed him, and he complained at the abrasive touch that ran over his collarbone.

"Uncomfortable now, is it?" Malfoy taunted. "Well, if you won't do what you're told..."

"I will," Harry promised suddenly as he made out and recognised the look in his partner's eye, but he knew it was too late, and he could only grit his teeth as the vibrations were taken back to the already hardened nub of nipple.

This time it hurt and there was nothing pleasurable about it. The prisoner tried to shift away from the press of fast-moving wood, but Draco's hand clamped down on his shoulder and kept him in position. Very quickly, tight, pained breathing became hisses of pain, but Harry hung on to his cry as indignance held it back.

"I don't know if I can trust you, Harry," Malfoy continued, pulling the tip away a little, offering some relief, but then returning the stimulation to the over-sensitised area.

"I'll be good," Harry promised again, the small battle not being worth the pain, and his admission of hurt did make it out of his throat.

"Now that's better."

The stinging touch shifted away again: the slave relaxed a little.

"But you have to convince me."

Harry tensed once more as the siege began again.

"Anything you want," Harry offered, not knowing if he meant it, but wanting the torture to stop.

"Anything?"

"Anything."

The wand was finally dragged back to the centre of his chest, where it wasn't pleasant, but it was bearable, and Harry glowered at his lover as his limits for the game shattered. Draco ignored the hostility, still smiling generously, as though he had bestowed a gift.

"Aren't you going to ask me what I want, Slave?" he prompted, raising an eyebrow.

The point of the wand dug in a little deeper, and Harry asked obediently, "What do you want?"

"Master."

"Master," Harry finished reluctantly, and looked away.

Suddenly, the wand was gone, and a hand took his chin; Harry's mouth was half open in complaint when lips met his again, but in seconds, the hot press of flesh dissolved their shape into the caress. He discovered that his arousal had not gone away as his body pulsed with the renewed contact, and Draco was forgiven. It didn't matter who was in control as his lover's tongue stroked his own, and even when Malfoy knelt back and grinned triumphantly at him, Harry just wanted more.

"Oh I think we're learning," Draco couldn't have sounded less like an instructor if he had tried as his tone oozed sex, but in a way he was right: Harry shifted only to aid as hands went to undo his trousers.

Fingers slipped inside the waistband first, tickling where they found only flesh.

"Wrapping not your forte either, Harry?" Draco asked, popping the fly-button like it wasn't there.

"Since I'm not supposed to be wearing anything anyway," Harry shrugged, well he started to shrug, but it turned into a moan of delight and he sunk into the chair, as the zip came undone and a hand descended around his genitals while the other pushed down the hampering cloth.

Draco fondled him a moment, but then released him. Disappointed, Harry pouted, but was just shown the flash of eyes which told him the kind of restraint his lover was employing to string out the game. When Malfoy took hold of his waistband once more and began to pull down, Harry lifted himself off the cushion and said goodbye to the rest of his clothing. He shivered as his trousers were pulled off completely, and fingers played over the ankle bands as they had the wrist ones.

"You never do things by halves, do you, Harry?" Draco observed, but his stare said he appreciated the offering, and quickly, Harry found his ankles spread as wide as the chair would allow and his lover intoned, "Creo radium."

The solid piece of metal which appeared to keep him where Draco had put him sent thrills through Harry that were more than obvious in his displayed state, and Malfoy was clearly enjoying the view. He stood up and leant over his slave, and his hand slid slowly up Harry's inner thigh. Constrained or not, Harry was not about to try and stop the delicious touch, and he sighed his pleasure.

"If I am obeyed, I can be benevolent," Draco continued his role with relish, and his dexterous digits solicited compliance as they stroked Harry's balls. "Are you ready to obey me, Harry?"

"Yes," Harry breathed, closing his eyes as he enjoyed the touch. "Yes, Master."

* * *

Harry wasn't sure how long the grope continued, but his erection was weeping, and his dick was aching with his desire by the time Draco stepped away. The move came without warning, and the slave pouted at his master as his passion went unresolved. Yet, Draco's avid attention on his heated body still sent all the right signals to his brain, and Harry's erection twitched.

"My, my, the slave is learning fast," Malfoy observed, letting out just a little of his own passion in his voice.

Then, with languid self-assurance, he stretched out on the far end of the sofa, almost reclining his upper torso against the deep cushions.

"Abcreo radium. Disiungo," he ordered, and suddenly Harry was free; it didn't last long, as replacement bonds came in the same breath, "Creo cantenum bis."

Harry examined the foot-long chain between his wrists, playing with the links and letting his lover see the nervous excitement his position was creating in him. Draco watched for a few moments in silence, but the master's indulgence came to an end as he commanded, "Slave, please me."

Harry was surprising himself as to just how much this game was turning him on: it had shifted the dynamics of the sex yet again, and the atmosphere between himself and Draco was electric. The hair on his arms stood on end with the exhilaration of his cowed state, and the small knot of resentment at being ordered around also added to the cocktail. He used a little of that umbrage in his movements as he decided what to do and slid off the chair, but the emotion was as bound as his physical body as he came to rest on his knees. Harry couldn't make out Draco's features from his current distance, but he could hear his breathing, tight and excited, and he sunk his teeth into the role that was making his lover horny.

Slowly, he leant forward and stretched out his arm towards the rug; one hand placed, he shifted fully on to all fours, placing the other hand at the full length of its chain from the first: the restriction sent shots of arousal running through him, and Harry heard Draco's breathing falter. When he made a second movement towards him, Harry guessed that Draco had forgotten to breathe at all, and he lowered his face to hide a smile.

The room was not large, and it took only a few defiant grovels for Harry to reach Draco, and keeping his gaze down he ran his palms up the inside of Draco's boots, and parted his knees. Once he was kneeling between his master's legs, the slave dragged his eyes up over the sculpted legs, and took as freely of Draco's groin with his gaze as Malfoy had done of his arousal with his hands; it was only a momentary distraction as Harry relished the thought of freeing the erection he recognised: he had other ideas first, and as his stare met Draco's, he requested, "May I use my magic?"

Grey eyes flashed at the unexpected subservience, and Draco smiled; he said nothing, but he granted his permission with an incline of his aristocratic head. Harry smiled back and then turned his attention to the leather either side of his torso.

"Solvo lace," he cast and then gasped as more magic than he was expecting ran out of his body through a deft flick of his right hand.

Draco chuckled at the shivers, but it wasn't just amusement in his sound, and, not letting the momentum drop, both inside and out, Harry repeated the spell on the other boot, and watched as the looped knot came undone. Without the aid of surprise, the second rush did not have such a dramatic effect, but Harry took in a few deep breaths as the pleasant sensations heightened his arousal still further. The near-to-bursting achy feeling that was taking over most of Harry's senses made him wary of another spell: he didn't want to expend his passions too soon, and so he chose the easier to control raw instincts for his next move.

Still, he was trembling with the mixture of effort and lust as he held out one hand to each boot. The gesture was not really necessary, but this game demanded some play acting, and, full of a sense of his own abilities, Harry concentrated on both sets of laces at once. Not as potent as spell-casting it may have been, but the breath hissed out of the Freehand's mouth as the direction he was giving to the unlacing made ecstatic spots dance in front of his eyes.

He had to stop several times as his magic pulled the laces out of their fastenings, and his skin had begun to glisten by the time he finished his work. Panting, Harry finally looked back up at Draco, who hadn't moved during the entire operation, and he found out why: Draco's gaze was so intense when he met it that it almost tipped Harry over the orgasmic edge on which he was teetering. Controlling himself, Harry locked his own stare with his master's and removed the loosened boots with a manual grasp on each heel. Harry pulled off Draco's socks without really thinking about them, he was too interested in the come hither eyes that held him more firmly than any chains, and, remembering his deference, slowly, he slid his hands up unresisting legs and leant in to the unspoken command.

Harry hovered close to his lover's face: it was not his place to close the distance between them now that he had answered the order, but the stroking his fingers were doing on Draco's thighs spoke his want. The master's own pot was boiling, and Draco paused only long enough to let his slave know he still controlled things before Harry found himself pulled the rest of the way in to the kiss. Leave given, Harry followed his urge to touch, and his restraint gone, he reached back into the embrace, his fingers scrabbling at Draco's shirt to release it from his waistband. However, as his insistent fingers found smooth flesh and he stroked possessively, hands that had been resting on his shoulders as the couple tasted each other suddenly gripped hard, and, taken by surprise, Harry had no reply as he was pushed backwards.

His shoulder caught the edge of the coffee table as he was going down, and Harry cried out in pain. The hurt dissolved into gasps, but took with it some of Harry's arousal as his bare back hit the rug and he was pinned to the ground by his lover. Draco showed no mercy. The hands that had caused offence were brought up next to his head, and Harry gagged when the chain between them was forced into his mouth before being pulled taught by pressure on his wrists. Harry looked up into the dilated stare surrounded by wildly tumbling hair above him and wondered if Draco was using the move to control himself as well as him, but the thought didn't really matter, since he was being reprimanded for his part in the abandon either way. Prudently, he chose not to struggle, but he silently made his resentment of the sudden force known through the look he gave back to his controller. Draco grinned.

"My pleasure is for less haste," the master informed his slave breathily, and Harry was certain that he was trying to control himself as well. "Your body is mine, but mine is not yours, understand?"

Harry wasn't sure he did understand, he wanted to touch and stroke and arouse, and he had assumed that pleasing Draco would mean the same thing. His confusion was answered with the blunt clarification, "I want to watch. Entertain me."

As soon as the order was given, Draco was gone, but Harry responded to his release more slowly. He wasn't exactly shocked: Draco enjoyed making a spectacle of his lover, but being left totally to his own devices was new; Harry took his time sitting up and contemplated the fact that he was being left to divine suitable entertainment, and as he rolled forward onto his knees once more, ideas began to form. Draco had been very specific about the term 'body', and as he looked up at his master, who had thrown himself back onto the sofa, Harry went hot and cold all over: he was being expected to perform.

"Well?" Draco prodded when the response was not immediate.

His mouth sore from the chain, and his nipple still remembering the first reprimand, the slave obeyed his master and began to move. His stomach did somersaults as Harry chose to clear his stage first, the bruise on his shoulder making the coffee table his target: he slid it to one side and took up position in the centre of the area between the sofa and the fire. He chose his position carefully, kneeling and resting on his heels, he placed his hands on either splayed knee, stretching the links between them to their limit, and finally, he bowed his head a little and placed his gaze on the floor at his master's feet.  



	4. Punishment and Reward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Games can be revealing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [beren_writes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/beren/pseuds/beren), my excellent beta reader

Harry could feel Draco's eyes running all over him, hungry for him, but he savoured the stillness for a while, letting his nerves and his lust build under the attention while his body remained passive. There would be no ministrations, magical or otherwise, from his lover this time: his responses would be all self-generated and the eroticism of that was already making sparks go off in his brain. He was no longer on the edge of climax, the shock of his master's attack had seen to that, but Harry's body tingled as he finally chose his course of action.

"Accio Banana Oil!" he cast, and held out his hand to the mantelpiece.

The bottle of massage oil slid out from behind the clock and flew into his waiting fingers, and Harry allowed himself a glance through his fringe to gauge what effect the choice had had on Draco: the watcher was smiling, but looked far too relaxed for Harry's liking and he took it as a challenge.

"Refigo lid," the Freehand ordered, and took in a deep breath as the cap unscrewed and popped off the bottle.

His nostrils flared at the smell of fruit, and his desires rose in tandem, and also his confidence.

"Suspendo!"

The bottle remained in midair where Harry left it, and he held out the same hand below it. As a little raw magic tipped the oil out onto his flesh, it wasn't merely the Freehands' Addiction which gave him goosebumps. A small amount of the glossy fluid welled in his cupped palm, and forgetting the container, Harry brought his hands together. The oil soaked his pores as he drew skin against skin, slowly, purposefully coating his fingers and palms. He enjoyed the slick feeling as he then ran his digits up over the inside of his wrists, and he dallied around the manacles, exploring the still strangely exotic eroticism of submitting to another's will: his display was for Draco, his master, to arouse him, but in so doing, he was more than arousing himself.

Soon, Harry's entire lower arms were glistening in the candlelight, making the strong muscles stand out as he moved. The bonds forced him to then concentrate on one bicep at a time, and he lavished attention on the hard curves, glossing them and his shoulders. He played a little with his watcher, checking that he still had his full attention, and being more than pleased with the slightly impatient set to Draco's features as he took his time. He smiled and made a few noises of light pleasure: it did feel good. However, his master was waiting for more of a show, and finally, Harry gave it to him.

Harry reached out for some more oil, as he had done several times before, only this time he let it flow into both palms; without ceremony, he then took the small pool of fluid and, tipping his head back, dribbled it onto his collarbone and let the lustrous droplets find their own path down his chest. He sighed and shivered as their passage tickled him, but he kept his hands away, letting them run out in their own time: Draco had stopped breathing again.

One trickle reached his navel, and Harry started in delight as it sensitised that particular erogenous zone. The tease he had initiated was too much, and needing to meet the sensations all over his chest and upper abdomen, Harry placed his palms on his breastbone and drew them slowly out from the centre and then down over his pecs. The chain stretched taut as he forgot its presence for a moment, and then it reinstated itself as it caught against one nipple: Harry gasped, Draco shifted in his seat, a stab of desire told Harry he liked his lover's reaction: he decided that the bonds could be more than just decoration.

Teasing, the performer let the chain go slack again, bringing his hands together and then past each other over his chest, spreading out the sheen. Once more, however, his hands returned to either side of his torso, stroking his ribs, and pulling the links tight against his skin. Murmuring, Harry dragged the hard metal over his six-pack, and then, anywhere he felt like on his glistening chest and neck. His lover's eyes followed every movement, adding to the stimulation and making him bolder. His erection pulsed, but he held back from touching himself there: the time didn't feel right and he continued to build his passions. More oil glossed his stomach and his thighs as Harry coated them and then stroked himself with the chain, shifting to give his watcher view of every touch and vocalising the desire.

Harry was drunk on Draco's voyeurism and as all his inhibitions dropped away, his hands touched himself more intimately: he ran his hands between his legs and moaned as his arousal throbbed. Yet he still didn't touch. He was too close to the edge to tease himself for much longer, but he drew it out further, high on the show of it as he shifted his attentions a little higher and danced his fingers over his hips. However, the chain pulled tight and held him back from the run that he had begun to make around his body: Harry whined, digging the metal into his stomach as his lust told him where he wanted to touch, and he couldn't. He looked to his master, kneeling up and begged, "Please."

Draco was less demonstrative about his authority this time. "Prolato cantenum," Malfoy breathed, almost inaudibly, and Harry smiled gratefully at the benevolence as his hands slipped over his hips and spread oil onto his buttocks before the elongated chain had time to go slack.

Harry groaned as he ran the flat of his palms over his arse and massaged with his fingers. He gripped the flesh and squeezed, moving to show his partner everything that he was doing, everything that he was thinking: he offered himself to his master there and then, spreading his buttocks, stroking and slicking and moaning his want. Yet, Draco did not move. He was biting his lip when Harry gave him a surreptitious glance, but Draco gave no signs of taking up the offer, so Harry answered his own needs: he pressed exploratively at his own entrance, swirling the lubricant against it and, gasping at the thrills that ran through his body, he was more than ready to pursue them. Then the order came, "No."

It was very hard to resist the anticipatory delight that the initial touches had produced, and Harry gritted his teeth, but he did obey the command. He glared at Draco, bristling against the control to which he had still submitted and was told by that power, "Not yours."

Harry wanted to complain then, tell his lover in no uncertain terms that his body was his, to do with as he wanted, but the look from master to slave, the erotic resentment, held him silent: instead, he continued to glower. Draco indulged the open hostility this time, and suggested, "There are other pleasures."

Malfoy's gaze settled obviously on Harry's erection, and several shots of a different kind of delight spread out from his abdomen to replace the thwarted ones. Settling down onto his heels, facing his master once more, the slave brought his hands back round his body as Draco wished. The chain went slack, and Harry murmured as its alien coolness settled on the base of his arousal. A hand or his own magic was normally the extent of his needs when masturbating, but this was a performance, and he caught the movement as Draco sat forward a little in response to the contact: he smiled and followed that lead.

Slowly, he lifted the links away from his body, and he could almost feel his watcher's disappointment, but, unrelenting, he reached out to the bottle of oil and tipped more of its contents into his hands. Then he coated his fingers and the chain thoroughly in the lubricating fluid. Draco may have been giving the orders, but at that moment, as he registered the enrapt attention, Harry knew he was in charge, and the inverted control made each stroke of digit on metal powerful. Harry took his time with the preparation of the improvised toy, and when he did lower the chain back to his abdomen, his master could not take his eyes away from him.

In control of the moment he may have been, but his body was on its own anarchic route to orgasm, and Harry could not stifle the groan that came from deep inside as he hooked the chain under his erection and drew it over his balls. He shuddered and closed his eyes, holding back a little longer, wallowing in the anticipation, and savouring the feel of the links against his genitals. The smooth, but unforgiving surface of the metal made his groin ache as he closed a loop around his cock, and Harry gasped uncontrollably as he moved the light constriction up its length: he wasn't the only one breathing irregularly. When he followed the foreign touch with his own slick hand, he rocked his hips reactively, and his hiss of breath became an ah of delight. Harry closed his eyes and began alternating the two sensations in earnest.

Metal, flesh, oil: it all became a heady mess very quickly, and Harry let his reactions do what they wished as he strove for climax. His own voice filled his ears and his abdomen writhed with an intent separate from the touch which drew out his pleasure. Yet even the controlling strokes surrendered to the waves of desire as he finally thrust forward into orgasm, and the world disappeared into brightness.

Harry came back to himself slumped to one side, held up on a very shaky arm and with his own cry disappearing into helpless pants. He gazed at Draco and smirked at the slightly parted lips and colour in his cheeks.

"Did that please you, Master?" he asked through his shuddering draws of breath.

Draco's answer was to climb to his feet and stand over his slave, his stare wide and full of admiration. Harry struggled back onto his knees and looked up; after a moment he then looked down and across at that which was level with his face. Malfoy's trousers were straining to contain the statement of how much he had enjoyed the show, and, licking his lips, Harry looked back up to his master and requested, "May I?"

He didn't need to clarify the appeal and his gaze fixed back on Draco's groin as he waited for the leave he was almost certain would be given. Long fingers played through his hair, and Harry leant into the touch, and then smiled as he was told, "You may."

Reverently, Harry ran his hands up the outside of Draco's thighs and continued up under the shirt he had freed earlier. His lover drew in a deep breath as his nails teased the willing flesh he found there. Harry looked up once more: Draco's eyes were closed, and gave him the freedom to do what he wanted, so he took a little revenge for the nipple torture as he flicked the hard nubs hidden under the loose cloth. Draco groaned, and his whole body wavered. Risking a reprimand, Harry flattened his palms over his master's chest and pushed him backwards. This time, Draco gave no objection to his forwardness, and he followed the direction which took him back down onto the sofa. More confident in his success, Harry pushed the black cotton up off Draco's ribs and kissed the white skin he revealed.

Master submitted to slave as his pleasure was met, and Harry unbuttoned Draco's trousers with the same kind of abandon which had led him into their first mutual encounter back at Hogwarts. His magic parted the fabric and freed his lover's arousal with a dexterity which brought a long moan out of Draco's mouth, and the young man smiled once more as he realised just how much he had already stimulated his partner. Draco was fully hard, and the tip of his cock began to glisten with the clear announcement of his passion as Harry knelt back and watched. Draco shifted into the pause, a whine of complaint on his lips, but his eyes were still closed and it was not a demand, more an admission of desire. However, it warned the slave that force would not be far behind, and he did not want this moment to be coerced, so he bent his head.

Deliberately, Harry ran his tongue over the tip and let the responding, small involuntary jerk bring it into his open lips. Draco gasped and flexed his hips more definitely as Harry closed his mouth around the given shaft and used his tongue more ruthlessly on the engorged arousal. Fingers twisted into his hair, and, still playing the game, Harry let them hold him steady as his master recovered himself. He did not normally take immediate direction when in such a position of power, but the role-play sparks were still flying, and Harry obeyed the will which commanded him until the grip lessened. Draco relaxed into the cushions, and murmured encouragement as Harry then slid his lips down the hot organ.

Draco's taste was unique: he tasted a little of soap, the residue of which Harry had decided from several experiences of tingling lips over the last couple of months, had magical cleansing properties, but there was also a flavour to him which was all Malfoy. The only way Harry had managed to describe it to himself was that he tasted expensive: fresh, well-groomed, and decadent. The soap was a little different today, the discernment of which was like finding out that a favourite treat had changed its recipe, but as his lips tingled more strongly than usual, Harry considered his own preparations and the hotness of his thoughts easily made up for the change: so Draco was more than likely as clean as he was. That idea made Harry more insistent than he had intended to be, and with a wordless yell, his lover bucked and rewarded him with the treat's hidden centre.

Harry swallowed and submitted once more to the grip which held him around Draco. His mouth cushioned the spent cock, teasing its sensitivity with his breath, and he knew he was still in control, even caught by his hair. Draco was shifting and murmuring his passions, and Harry could feel every shiver that he was creating, and he decided that this challenge was fun.

* * *

Harry kissed the bare knee next to his cheek and smiled at the easy murmur from his master; they were still playing games, games that had finally taken Draco out of his clothes and had discovered that slaves could get away with a lot when their masters were seeing stars, including persuading him to remove the chains when they got in the way of petting. Yet, now those games had slowed almost to a stop. As they had come to the comfortable pause, Harry had taken up a spot between Draco's legs where he was still sat on the warmest spot of the sofa in front of the fire; it was their only nod to the role play as they had relaxed in each other's company in silence, enjoying their own thoughts.

The ease was new to Harry. When he was alone with Draco, his thoughts and instincts were usually on sexual overdrive, and once those base wants had been satisfied, it had always been time to part (accidents and overloads aside), but the long evening in front of them promised more than one encounter, and he enjoyed the glow of the first while contemplating others.

Draco had surprised Harry, more by what his lover had managed to inspire in him than from the dominance he had been showing. Obedience, especially tinged with some defiance had made their play wild, and play was what it was: free, uninhibited sexual games, where only lust and physical gratification mattered.

Yet, now the game was suspended, the feelings which ran behind it had made it to the surface in Harry. He had invited the wild card that was Draco Malfoy into his home, primarily to answer carnal desires, but the risk had been underlined by the uncertain label Harry was still trying to put on this evening. Their relationship had been borne of base needs and emotions, but time and the united front they had shown to Aleyn de la Folle had developed more complex ideas in Harry. He tried not to think about them often, reminding himself of the cruel bastard who had taunted him into his first sexual encounter, who had pursued him with a ruthlessness that had driven him to despair, but when he was being truly honest with himself, Harry had to admit that he had put those moments behind him: he had begun to trust Draco.

The thoughts swirled around in Harry's head, not really forming properly, as he watched the flames of the fire in front of him and enjoyed the absent stroking that Draco had been running through his hair. Yet those flames had begun to die away, and with them, his contemplations, and the kiss had been Harry's way of signalling that he was going to move. He sighed as the nice sensation of Draco's fingers on his scalp stopped, but it was time for the calm to come to an end.

"The fire," he explained, and was not stopped as he knelt forward, steadying himself with one hand and reaching for a piece of wood with the other.

Yet, he couldn't quite reach from the leisurely stance he had taken up, and so his magic made his arm that bit longer: gripped in an invisible hand, the wood lifted from the pile and settled onto the glowing embers, and, enjoying the flow of power in his body, Harry just watched the first flames lick around the log's edges and let the rushing settle away. Harry was watching the fire: Draco, it became apparent was watching Harry.

Harry started in surprise, but quickly settled for a lustful murmur as fingers and then a palm stroked his buttock. He held his position, but pushed a little into the fondle, and Draco chuckled. The stoking continued for a few moments, but then a playful slap signalled that things were moving on. Harry glanced back over his shoulder, his senses alert again, thanks to the light stinging of his right thigh, and Draco smiled superiority back at him.

"On your feet," the master ordered after another moment to reaffirm the rules of the game.

Draco stood, off-handedly sure of his slave's obedience as he took his eyes off him and walked out round the sofa and into the open area between it and the dining table. Harry stood up and looked to his controller for more instructions.

"Out here."

Draco beckoned, a forceful grin spreading out over his features as Harry walked to where he was bidden. His body was tingling again as Draco watched him, hands lowering onto hips, and a stab of arousal almost drew a sound as he was admired.

Harry walked right up to his lover, but he did not meet the stare head on: insubordination only worked as part of the dynamic when he was in a position of weakness, and, quite frankly, a little freedom was a relief for a while, so he didn't challenge it. Instead, Harry bowed his head and looked through his fringe. Draco's smile said he approved, and, leisurely, he pulled Harry in to his body. Harry didn't reach back, in fact he lowered his gaze completely, enjoying the play-acting as commanding hands put him where they wanted him.

When his chin was lifted, it was very difficult not to look into the intense eyes that Harry could feel on him, but that was part of the fun, and the game paid off as a wonderful shot of surprise ran through Harry when his lips were taken. They hadn't done much kissing this evening, and most of it had ended in reprimands when Harry had 'forgotten his place'. Draco was very good with his mouth, and warmth spread out through Harry as he responded to the caress. Yet, this time, he was not going to lose the arousal to a dressing down, and he hung on to the part of his brain that tempted too much forwardness, letting his body be taken, without taking back. That caused a peculiar mix of passion and subservience as he opened to Draco's demanding tongue.

Harry was gasping and shivering by the time Draco broke the embrace, and he knew his eyes were wide as he looked back at his lover, but the master took it well. He stroked a hand over Harry's shoulder, once again showing his approval, and condescended, "Well done, you are learning."

The submissive eroticism left Harry slightly off balance, and his brain was still trying to right itself as Draco pressed the dynamic further. The hand on his shoulder suddenly increased its pressure, and the command came, "On you knees."

Harry went down with only a small resistance borne of shock rather than defiance, and he landed in a still rather dazed heap, steadying himself with one arm. Yet adrenaline spiked in him at the minor show of force, and the hot daze swiftly turned into a whole mixture of erotic desires as Draco's foot kicked his wrist out from under him and he sprawled onto the floor. His master laughed, and Harry felt his cheeks burn at his own weakness; he did not try to stop the growl of umbrage that broke between his lips when he glanced up at the mocking power of his lover.

"Now, now Slave," Draco, it appeared, was feeling more leisurely about any retribution for such insubordination as he looked down at Harry's recumbent form, "and you were doing so well. Creo cantenum bis."

A freedom lost, Harry relaxed submissively into the crumple his master wanted, his skin prickling with the attention that his action gained. He dropped his gaze, looking at the shiny metal links that held his wrists and stretched over his hip. They were really quite delicate, enough to hold during these kinds of games, but no more than show in the real world that the locked door held at bay. What exactly would they have shown the world outside? Harry drew in a hasty breath as the stab of reality interrupted his lust, and he glanced back up at his lover.

Yet, Draco had turned his back, and was scanning around the room. Harry was rather glad, as the indifference dimmed the moment of perspective. He wanted his lover, any way he could get him, and he liked the feel of metal on his wrists. This was a game, all out libido, and the youth began to play once more.

Draco wasn't ignoring him completely, Harry could tell by the set of his shoulders. Still Harry was careful as he watched the way Draco cast his attention round the room, looking, he guessed, for hiding places for toys at which Harry had hinted throughout the evening so far. Harry risked moving, but he did so slowly, and with the same resentful deference he had shown to his lover's face; he uncrumpled himself onto his knees as he had originally been ordered, and leant towards his lover's back. There was no apparent reaction as Harry paused behind the haughty figure, but he kept on playing as he breathed, "Master."

Keeping his hands to himself, Harry leant forward and laid his lips on the back of Draco's knee. The leg wobbled, almost imperceptibly, but Harry felt it, and he smiled: the embers were burning, even if Draco disdainfully ignored him.

"Master," he repeated, and kissed again, a little higher up Draco's leg.

"May a humble slave," another brush of lips against the back of Draco's thigh, and this time Harry felt a tremble, "offer his sincere apologies," he knelt up and pressed his mouth against the base of Draco's buttock, longer this time, "if he has offended you."

Harry ran his tongue along the bottom of the cheek and tasted the light salt of his partner's prior exertions: Draco sighed.

"And may he beg," he nipped at the smooth flesh, causing a start to run right up through his partner, but still Draco feigned indifference, "to make it up to you."

Harry kissed Draco's tailbone, and when there was no rejection, maintained the attention this time. Draco moved against his caress, his desire heavy in the tone of another murmur, and it fired Harry to risk steadying the moment with his hands.

His groin throbbed as Harry kissed and licked Draco's buttocks and felt the small, but barely controlled responses. This was something he'd done before, and he knew where to run his tongue over the firm mounds to get his lover to squirm and murmur the way he wanted him to, and there was not really much ice to melt in Draco's pretence.

However, his libidinal overdrive that evening took Harry further than he had explored before as he impulsively spread Draco and ran his tongue down the exposed cleft. Draco knees didn't quite give out, but he wavered wildly, and his exclamation told Harry he had found a very powerful seduction. His own body pulsing, Harry was as merciless as Draco had been and offered no time for recovery before he pressed his tongue forcefully against Draco's anus.

Harry's stomach did a somersault as he heard the groan that came helplessly from Draco and he knew how much power he was suddenly wielding. His lover wobbled, and, not wanting to ruin the contact, Harry paused a moment and pulled Draco down to him. There was absolutely no resistance, and slave controlled master as he guided him on to all fours. Draco's head hung down between his arms, almost touching the ground as he remained caught in the momentary sensations, and the thrills multiplied in Harry as he realised he had discovered something that broke through all Malfoy's barriers; without delay, he returned to his ministrations.

The sounds that escaped Draco's mouth when Harry played his tongue around his entrance again were unadulterated by any kind of self-control, and only his hands on his lover's buttocks stopped Draco's trembling and reactive shifts from knocking out a few teeth. Harry had never experienced his partner so totally out of control, and adrenaline coursed through his system as he teased.

Draco whined when Harry strayed from his focus, and he only just contained the buck which would have followed his mouth up his lover's cleft: Harry bit cheek for that, but if he was hoping to communicate his displeasure at HarrHarryH  
nearly losing his incisors, he was disappointed by the lust-filled admission that came from his partner. Annoyance was a mouse compared to the cat that was championing his arousal, and Harry kissed where he had just bitten as Draco was forgiven. Draco liked the touch, his sigh said as much, but the way he moved his hips in small, insistent circles spoke volumes about where he wanted Harry's attention to be.

Harry spread Draco again, and the anticipatory gasp sent waves of erotic power running through him as he listened to it. Deliberately, Harry paused, exploring his lover's need, and then he heard something he had never thought to hear from Malfoy.

"Please."

The beg was not really necessary, Harry was not about to give up the thrills that this encounter was creating in him, but he filed the knowledge away as he placed his lips at Draco's tailbone once more. Slowly, mixing flicks of tongue with longer, more insistent attentions, Harry began to move down the cleft. His lips and tongue tingled with the residue of magical cleansing, and the taste of Malfoy joined with the feel and sound of Malfoy; Harry revelled in the helplessness of his lover, slowly building murmurs to exclamations and shivers to muscle-weakening shudders. With satisfaction, Harry finally heard the deep, ecstatic moan that accompanied his return of probing tongue to Draco's anus. The tight muscle ring flexed under his damp survey and the whole of Draco's body reacted, but Harry clamped hold of his hips and forced relative stillness.

Draco's reactions were too strong to maintain complete purchase on them, but Harry retained enough control to sustain the plunder that was blowing his partner's mind. Draco's arms collapsed, and his moans became muffled in the carpet and interspersed by panting. Harry was unrelenting, even when gasps took over completely from any other sound of Draco's passion. He followed his own map, probing and licking, building his own arousal as his lover's surrender grew.

When Harry decided his mouth had done enough, that long, brazen groan was back in Draco's throat, this time accompanied by Harry's as he smoothly replaced tongue with cock. His lover was as unresisting as Harry had ever known him and he took full advantage, burying himself inside Draco. The emotional and physical claim he was making on his partner then came out of Harry in the form of a low growl: he was in control, in spite of the role play and its obvious toy, the chain, which was now stretched across Draco's lower back; he knew it and Draco knew it, and in that heady knowledge, Harry pillaged his prize.

Hearing his master moan his name repeatedly was revenge enough for the subjected slave as he took Draco hard and fast, his own passions building at an alarming rate. His whole body was alive with sex, and not even a stunner would have stopped his rhythm. His momentum was so much that Harry hit the wall of orgasm in shock and his possessive growl stopped as all his breath escaped from his body. Draco tensed, and then Harry screamed and finally the bright spots took away anything but the overwhelming lust that ripped through his body.  



	5. Reciprocation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry has one final game to play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [beren_writes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/beren/pseuds/beren), my excellent beta reader

Harry didn't exactly faint as emotional and physical pleasure threw him over the edge, but cohesive thought left for a while. He knew that he collapsed back, away from Draco, into a slumped kneeling position, and he gathered that Draco also moved, and shortly after that he was on his back, but it took a lot longer for him to realise that he was on his back because Draco had him pinned down once more; one arm was pushing on Harry's chest, and the other was wrapped around his left leg, its shoulder holding his knee up.

Draco, it became swiftly obvious, had recovered more quickly than his lover, and he had taken full advantage; he was smiling victoriously when Harry managed to focus as much as his vision allowed, and, as he was blinked at, he said, "Slave, I didn't give you permission to take me."

"Say you didn't enjoy it," Harry countered, still pumped up on the knowledge of how to turn Draco Malfoy to putty.

The master's response was to lean against his leg, pushing his lower body up, and Draco sounded angry as he warned, "Not the point. I can take you, where I want;" Harry shivered as the back of his thigh was stroked; "when I want;" Harry drew in a hasty breath as the tickling fingers descended towards his arse, not quite believing what he suspected was happening; "how I want!"

Harry arched off the floor and cried out as two fingers breached him decisively and popped a few more brain cells. He struggled, rebelling against the force more from indignance than any dislike of the intrusion, but Draco had him locked into position, and he just ending up panting helplessly. Then he whined as Malfoy twisted his fingers slowly.

"You will not connive or otherwise manipulate your way around me again, will you?"

Words were very difficult to form when breathing was coming in short bursts, and Harry only managed a groan as Draco backed up his instruction by forcing his fingers deeper. His body was still singing with the left-over orgasm, and the new penetration was very difficult to resist: part of Harry wanted to be angry with the dominance, like Draco was angry with him, but he was too receptive to the lust in the confrontation to really object, and he just tipped his head back, closed his eyes and let his pleasure and a few pain centres rule.

"Pay attention, Slave," Draco snarled, and removed his fingers: Harry pouted and looked up at the frustrated features. "That's better. This environment offers you far too many freedoms, a reduction may curb your insubordinations."

His master released him in one swift move, and Harry gazed at him, his chest tight with the past and proposed excitements.

"Get up those stairs," Draco growled, his tone low and menacing as he pointed the way.

Harry hid a smile of abandon, which he couldn't stop playing onto his face, by rolling onto all fours and preparing to obey the command.

* * *

Knelt up, Draco's hand on his shoulder placing him against his master's legs, Harry surveyed the bedroom by the flame of the single candle Draco was holding in his free hand.

"Light," Draco ordered, and this time, Harry's want to impress overcame the rushing of his instincts.

The chain on his wrists clinked in the silence and then he cast confidently, "Flammo!"

He trembled as his magic met unhindered lust and Draco's hold tightened possessively on his shoulder. He leant into the support his master was offering and watched proudly as the flame leapt from candle to candle until the room was lit with the warm glow of his passion.

"Abcreo cantenum," Draco approved, and then ordered, "Onto the bed."

As with the other rooms in the cottage, his bedroom was not huge, and placing one knee forward, Harry reached out and hooked his fingers on the end of the mattress. Staying low, he eased his body up over the newly pressed coverlet until he was poised on the bed, his chest almost touching the cotton, his legs spread a little and everything being offered to his watcher. Yet the offer was not enough for Draco, and after a pause, which held Harry taut with anticipation, his master directed still further, "On your back."

Slowly, Harry obeyed, paying attention to every flex of muscle as he turned and arranged himself: knees bent a little, ankles just far enough apart, stomach and chest showing their athletic physique as elbows planted into the mattress held his shoulders away from the bed, and his head tipped slightly back. Draco smiled at the second presentation, clearly impressed, but still he remained in the doorway.

"Further up the bed, on the pillows," he pressed, "wrists on the bed posts."

What was being commanded suddenly came clear, and Harry paused as he realised he was being told to take up the pose into which he had been forced when all this had begun. He let his disquiet show, but could not make out the expression that was watching him clearly enough to know if it had been acknowledged. At least no warning of reprimand for disobedience came, but no countermand either.

Harry looked down at himself, his naked body posed to entice his lover to him and his trepidation didn't make sense. He had not considered the connotations of the bed when he had prepared for this rendezvous, and, given all that had passed so far, such concern felt vaguely absurd. He had put the slave bands on himself, he had invited this moment: Harry took the fear that had begun in the pit of his stomach and embraced the increase it brought to his pulse. With very deliberate movements, he began to shift into the position that turned his lover on.

Resting on the pillows, one wrist went easily to the first post, and the breathy cast of, "Adhaereo!" told Harry how much effect his capitulation was having on Draco. However, he still pulled a little at the short chain, which appeared to attach his wrist to the wooden surface, and wondered if he was being too reckless. The thought made him pause only a moment as Draco took the couple of steps to the bed, and his wide, excited eyes and parted lips spoke directly to the lust in Harry. His confidence took a boost, and with slow deliberation, he moved his hand to the second bedpost.

"Adhaereo," his captor intoned again, and then he was kneeling between Harry's legs, his palms running up over Harry's chest.

"Now there's no cloth between us. Now, I'll make you feel the power of my cock," Draco reminded Harry of those desperate moments when he had first released his Freehand power.

With the memories so close, and his passions already so high, Harry felt his magic take hold. The rushing sense that fed his instincts coursed through him, and he used it. He knew what he wanted, and the Freehand didn't really care how he got it, he just reached out and summoned what he needed, what his master needed. Several pops came from around the lovers as Harry dragged objects out of their current locations with a bluntness unusual even for a Gryffindor; three bottles of different body oil, a pot and a tube of gel lubrication, and a tub of body paint all materialised at shoulder-height and then bounced onto the bed as Harry, shivering with the effort of the raw demand, let them go. He sunk back into the pillows, momentarily light-headed. As the rush inside settled down, Harry blinked away the woolly feeling it had generated and focused on the desire that had sparked it; he looked up at aroused admiration, flexed his hips and offered, "For you, Master."

Draco looked around them, apparently assessing the proposition, but magic was a sure-fire way of seducing any tease in his lover, and Harry knew he would not have long to wait. His growing erection throbbed as Harry watched his lover reach over for the pot of lube, and that feeling cascaded through his body on a wave of anticipation when Draco, with deliberate care, unscrewed the top. Long fingers plunged deep into the pot and curled around the viscous, glistening contents, and then displayed their plunder: Harry's breath stopped in his throat. Draco dropped the pot and brought his palms together, letting the gel ooze between and around his fingers as he coated them slowly. Anticipation swiftly turned to impatience, and Harry remembered to breathe again as he growled that emotion. Draco's eyes flashed, but no reprimand came, instead he responded to the come on: one hand ran down through blond hair to slick the waiting arousal while the other went down between Harry's legs.

Harry lifted himself up and met the fingers that slid between his buttocks; there was no pause as the glossy digits opened him and his only resistance was a breathy sigh. The preparation was barely necessary, a mere formality for Harry's sex-heated body, and he made that clear to his partner when he pushed against the intrusion hungrily. Draco chuckled at his urgency, telling him, "My, my Slave, maybe incentives are better than chastisements," and applied more pressure.

Harry tipped his head back, closed his eyes and let his desire out in an appreciative moan. The fingers explored him for a while longer, making his pulse faster and his breathing shallower, exciting the imminent, but Draco was reading him well, and Harry was given what he wanted in short order: Draco penetrated him, opening the muscle ring with the head of his erection. There he stopped, however, and Harry whined, but hands held his hips and would not allow him to spear himself further.

"What do you say, Slave?" Draco asked, clipping the ends of his words as he fought the push from Harry.

Harry opened his eyes and glared at his lover. Yet this was not all about a master and a slave, this was more to do with vulnerabilities in Draco, and Harry could see a little revenge hovering behind Draco's eyes; he wanted payback for the entreaty dragged out of him downstairs.

"Bastard," Harry charged, but not too seriously.

Draco moved a little, just enough to make Harry whine his want some more, and he rumoured, "No, Slave, that isn't it."

Harry gave up: at that moment, Draco could have anything he wanted, and if words were going to make him finish what he had so enticingly started, he could have them. Knowing he was going to have the last word anyway, Harry tipped his head back once more and begged, "Please, Master."

As Draco accepted the petition, the end of it came out in a hiss that swiftly became an ah, and nothing stopped Harry from taking his lover as deeply as he could; once he had his prey, Harry tightened. Draco choked on his breath, but did not complain, in fact, as he checked on the shivers he generated in his partner, Harry saw eyes closed in pleasure.

"Don't move," he whispered breathlessly to his captive and continued, "Implico."

The sensation on his tailbone had gone largely unnoticed among the other more definite amorous feelings that evening, but Harry had never forgotten the tattoo that he had been saving till last. Sybil had warned him that it was an intense experience, and he had been saving it with a private anticipation for the right moment. His advisor had not been understating the facts, and Harry jerked in surprised delight as the tattoo made itself known by swirling strongly over his tailbone. Draco groaned and complained, "I'm not the one moving."

Harry wasn't interested in the minor chastisement, as all his attention focused on the active magic. The pattern was more than just moving over itself in the preformed shape now, and he almost laughed with the lust that heightened his senses as the design began to spread. It ran down his cleft, and like the cleansing potion, found its way directly to his anus, only this time, he was already filled, and the magic was no light massage. The tattoo added to the breach, running around the base of Draco's cock, to which he gasped in shock, but it was nothing to the shudder that ran through him into Harry as, like a second skin, the pattern surged up into Harry and over Draco, shadowing their union.

"Merlin!" his lover exclaimed, releasing Harry and planting his arms either side of Harry's torso to support himself.

The swirling, animated touch was not a barrier between the two men, instead it encouraged the already potent sexual sensations, and Harry's head spun a little with the power of it all. Yet, the cast wasn't finished, and he did laugh this time as he felt the design expand on, up over his balls and coat his shaft tightly. Draco groaned again, his shudders not stopping, and by the way he thrust forward a couple of times, Harry knew the tattoo was completing its task and had breached his lover as well.

Harry clenched involuntarily at the pushes from his partner, and the magical encasement on his own erection tightened in tandem, sending glorious signals through his groin.

"Bloody hell!" Draco swore again, gasping and shivering and clearly struggling to regain some control. "What are you doing to us, Potter?"

"Reciprocal tattoo," Harry managed to get out between his own hasty breaths.

"Oh Merlin!" his lover groaned as he pushed forward again, "I can feel..."

"Exactly what you're doing to me," Harry finished, the triumph of the moment adding to his passion as his own reactions were mirrored once more around his cock.

Every movement generated another as both lovers struggled with the duplicate input, and failed to halt its glorious overload. Harry looked up at the open-mouthed, disbelieving gasps of Draco, who was leaning a long way over him, and grinned as his gaze was met. The lock of stares seemed to help Draco, and, with an effort that showed in his face, he managed to still himself enough to stop the feedback loop. Harry relaxed a little and the closeness eased on his shaft as well. Draco then shut his eyes and drew in a long, steadying breath.

"You're very pretty when you can't help yourself, Master," the slave decided to tease boldly.

"Pretty?" Draco dropped momentary surprise in favour of derision, and he took back control very decisively as he withdrew a little way and rammed back in.

Harry groaned and tightened again as Draco found his prostate, and Draco groaned as well, his head dropping so that his hair brushed Harry's chest. Harry shivered and surrendered to a wave of arousal that ran out from his loins as his own spasms engorged his erection. The world went round, so he closed his eyes and concentrated on the consuming pleasure that had hold of them both.

"Start slower," he encouraged his panting lover, just about remembering the advice Sybil had given him, "till we're," he had meant to say, 'used to it', but Draco was not waiting for any more instructions, and so Harry forgot his words in favour of a murmur of desire. The movement was very slight, just a gentle pull-back of no more than millimetres and a gradual return, but both men vocalised their gratification as the magic gave them double the experience.

The success made Draco bolder, and he withdrew more definitely, but smoothly; his exclamation as Harry took him in again said that he still couldn't quite believe the sensations that the net of power was creating. Draco's control was far better this time though, and he drew a shudder of bliss from Harry as, without pausing for recovery, he applied his attention through another screw. The resultant force on his cock made Harry realise why Draco liked to make him react involuntarily as the randomness of it caused lights to spark in his brain: if the groan from his partner was anything to go by, Harry's weren't the only sparks being created.

Draco thrust again, harder, more confident, and it was Harry's turn to pant as the feelings of being penetrated and penetrating hit him in equal measure: the urge to thrust upwards into the invisible constriction was irresistible, and Harry gave in. Draco hissed his pleasure through gritted teeth, and with much better control, took advantage of the movement, taking Harry's legs and pushing his lower body further up for better access. The position also afforded him complete mastery of the sex, as Harry lost his only purchase on the mattress; yet, he gave it up willingly, as his lover's movements took him over, filling him and therefore surrounding him, and his heated body felt the momentum begin to grow. Harry grabbed on to the bedposts and took all Draco had to give.

Harry cursed the air first, but Draco was not far behind, and their voices joined in a disbelieving discord of the all-encompassing experience; the encounter consumed everything, all thought and all sensation as Draco's thrusts grew ever faster and more demanding. Harry could feel the drive in his partner as the dual input spurred him on, and he welcomed every incursion. He did not need to hear the amazed, "Merlin!" from his lover to know that he was almost at climax, because his own erection was straining into the tight feeling of demanding muscle and looking for release.

One thrust, two thrusts, and then Harry felt the involuntary jerk that initiated orgasm: deliberately, he caught Draco's movement in his body and the delicious sensation of captured liberation filled him and shortly possessed him as his own climax joined the mix. Harry thought he yelled, but what words came out of his mouth was beyond his thought processes as he lost himself to the tide of mind-altering sensations. He could feel the magic and the human ecstasy cascading through him, as the potent spell did its work, and he had no choice but to ride the high as long as it lasted.

Body and soul could not sustain such intensity for long, and Harry came back to himself, struggling for breath and shivering with the weakness in his body. Draco was sprawled on top of him, part of the reason for his difficulty in breathing, and was also gasping and wiped out. The collapse had separated them, but they were still tangled uncomfortably, and, as his muscles complained about the strain they were under, Harry gingerly tried to shift position. Draco complained as he moved, and he was frowning in concentration as he lifted his head from Harry's chest. Still, he struggled to push himself up, and with the help from Harry's legs, which were glad to unfold, and much panting, he managed to end up on his back beside Harry. Harry glanced in his direction, but Draco was staring at the ceiling, and there was a look of dazed wonder on his face.

Harry smiled: dinner, slave bands, and tattoo; he was satisfied that no matter where the evening went from here, he had managed to impress.  



	6. An Artful Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daylight doesn't mean things come to an end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [beren_writes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/beren/pseuds/beren), my excellent beta reader

Harry lay in a content daze between waking and sleeping, listening to the sound of Draco's deep, even breathing. He was warm and comfortable and relaxed lying close to the partner he had invited into his bed, and he wallowed in the sleepy companionship for as long as waking would allow. Yet, sunshine was streaming through the window, announcing the morning world, and as he gradually rejoined it, bodily processes began to join those of thought, and a combination of a rumbling stomach and a full bladder eventually drew Harry all the way from sleep. He yawned, and stretched and rolled away from the warm body he didn't want to wake if he could help it, and then tentatively stuck an arm out from under the blankets. He was pleasantly surprised when the air did not make his skin go blue; it meant that the Aga (which provided the heat and hot water for the house) had not failed, which it was apt to do every so often, and so he slid out of bed without having to scrabble for his dressing gown.

As he stood up, Harry looked back down on the slumbering form of his lover and smiled to himself. Draco's features were softer when he slept, when life had not put the waking edge on them, and despite the mess of white hair which fell over his face and the pillow, Harry found him very attractive. He resisted the urge to kiss the slightly parted lips that were turned somewhat his way, not wanting to spoil the peace of the moment, and he settled for a few memories of the long evening before. Now awake and a little horny, Harry indulged his libido when he left the bedroom the same way he had entered it: naked.

Harry padded downstairs and headed immediately to the bathroom. Once the call of nature was answered, he took a proper look at the living room; it was a mess. Clothes were strewn around the sofa and armchair, and the bottle of discarded banana oil had somehow been knocked over onto his shirt. As Harry grabbed his glasses and then retrieved shirt and bottle for a closer inspection, he was glad to find that there had not been much left of the oil, but that still meant his shirt was going to need more than a cursory clean. He was in too good a mood to let the mild annoyance spoil it, and so Harry discarded both emotion and item as he threw the shirt onto the back of the arm chair.

Instead he looked around at the candles, some of which were still burning, and at the light which was making it past the edge of the curtains. First, he waved his hand and swept back the curtains with a little raw magic, then he decided a spell was far too complex after the more than eventful evening and cast more magic out in multiple directions to extinguish the remaining candles. The Freehand was blunter than he intended to be as, along with the candles going out, a picture fell off the wall, and the lock on the front door undid with a loud squelch. Harry wouldn't have cared, but the magic, when he tried to reign it in, also brought the door in with it, and a nasty draft hit him. With a strangled gasp, Harry crossed the room in a few strides and shut out the bright, white, snowy morning that he had inadvertently revealed.

Shivering, Harry might have gone for some clothing, but at that point, his stomach rumbled again, and he lost interest in anything but breakfast, and he headed into the kitchen.

If the living room could be deemed a mess, then the kitchen was a disaster area. Due to the fact he'd been in a minor temper, Harry had been none too careful when dishing up the food, so there were saucepans and oven dishes and rubbish all over the side. Harry grimaced, looked from the small disaster to the sink and back again, and then, with a flick of his hand, sent the entire disarray sliding into the waiting receptor. With another wave, he sent the unrecoverable items sailing towards the swing-top bin in the corner. The bin lid opened with a snap as the rubbish arrived, rattled from side to side as the large delivery disappeared into what appeared to be a smaller space than could cope with it, and then snapped shut once more, which was followed by a gurgling noise that sounded like the debris was being digested. Rather pleased with himself, Harry then reached into the breadbin where he had stacked the muffins for breakfast.

A quick check of the clock told Harry that it was in fact nearly lunch time, but that didn't stop his yen for hot buttered muffins, and so he set about slicing and toasting the dough patties, enjoying the smells as they browned on the Aga hot plate. He heard the toilet flush while he was busy with the breakfast, but no-one came into the kitchen, so he just absorbed himself in the domestic task, so much so that by the time he had finished and was fetching butter and jam, the pile of muffins staying warm in the top oven was enough for six people, let alone two. However, Harry was hungry, and he had been used to Molly Weasley's cooking over the Christmas holidays so the pile just looked appetising. Searching out a tray, he grabbed a couple of plates that weren't in the sink, some mugs, made a pot of tea and then retrieved the muffins. When his stomach rumbled at the sights and smells before him, Harry grabbed a muffin-half and took a large bite, but managed to resist demolishing it completely. Munching through the mouthful, he then grabbed the tray and headed back upstairs.

The sight that met Harry as he walked back into the bedroom almost made him forget muffins: Draco was sprawled on his back across most of the bed, the covers lying tantalising low over his stomach; he had brushed his hair during his trip to the bathroom, but it was still kind of messy, revealing the conflict between sleepiness and vanity that had to have taken place, and sleepiness had won, because he was out for the count. The fact that Harry was holding the tray meant that muffins won for a few moments, but he relinquished the tray on the end of the bed, put his glasses on it and sat down next to his lover. This time he wanted to disturb the dozy peace, and softly, he ran his palm from Draco's stomach up over his smooth chest, and rubbing one of his pecs, leant in for a kiss. Draco was sleepy, but awake by the time Harry met his lips, and he responded with a warm murmur and then opened his mouth to expand the caress. Hands entwined into his hair, and Harry found himself held in the kiss as Draco woke more fully into it.

When he was released, Harry sat back and would have greeted his partner, but Draco got there first with the dry observation, "You taste of butter."

Harry glanced over his shoulder and Draco sat up as his attention followed the lead.

"Merlin, I'm starving," his guest announced, and, not sure if he minded coming second to breakfast, Harry watched as Draco grabbed the tray and dragged it up to them.

He gave up trying to decide as his own stomach reminded him why he had risen in the first place, and, just about remembering his manners, poured the tea before picking up the half-eaten muffin he had begun earlier.

* * *

Brunch went fast at first, but then slowed as hunger was satisfied, and the bed began to gather crumbs when the lovers mixed breakfast and petting. Sleep had renewed the energies expended the night before, and it was a surprise to Harry when Draco called a sudden halt to what was becoming a recommencement of more than just kissing. Harry had just run his hand down over his partner's hip, and was planning on exploring between his legs when Draco started and with a grunt, pushed him away. Harry rolled off his side onto his back and scrabbled to prop himself up on his elbows, showing his displeasure in a frown.

"Your hands are covered in muffin," Draco complained, "and butter may be an adequate lubricant, but crumbs aren't."

Harry had been enjoying working round the crumbs, and he pouted at the snark, even though he knew Draco's prudence was probably right. However, Draco wasn't all pique, and the momentary disappointment went away as Harry found himself straddled by his lover; he lay back down and accepted the fingers that entwined with his own and pushed him into the mattress as Draco leant over him.

"You know I appreciate cleanliness," Draco almost cooed, hovering his face a few inches away from Harry's, "and you did so well last night."

"Well, the water's hot, how about a shower?" Harry offered, and what he took as a 'yes' came in the form of a greedy kiss.

"My thoughts exactly," Draco approved when he finally drew back, and then he climbed off the bed, dragging Harry with him.

Getting down the stairs happened in two stages, since Harry decided he liked the look of the arse in front of him about halfway down the steps and the result was an amorous grope. However, hard-wearing stair carpet and crumbs were not kind to naked skin, and halted the caress before it morphed into anything heavier, and so the pair made the bathroom within ten minutes.

They climbed into the bath together, starting an amorous kiss, but then Draco saw something over Harry's shoulder that distracted him. Harry followed the hand that went towards his soap shelf, and then he remembered what he had left there. Draco was grinning widely as he examined the small jar, and offered, "You did rather better than I realised last night, Harry."

"No half measures," the host replied, stroking his lover's hip and pressing his groin to his guest's.

"You've been enjoying yourself in Pandora's Box," Draco observed. "Only Sybil sells this stuff."

"Familiar with her wares, are you?" Harry teased back, having expected no less.

"Best in the business," Draco agreed, and then slammed the pot onto the soap shelf and met the aggressive kiss into which Harry dragged him.

Harry reached behind himself and blindly turned on the shower. The water was warm and slippery and gave Draco's skin a sheen against which Harry played himself. He explored his partner with quickly growing excitement, actual washing be damned, but Draco revealed that he had other ideas. Having only just begun to discover the delights of water-slicked skin, Harry was not expecting the shove that sent him back into the wall away from his partner, but he went with it, only mildly surprised and reached to pull Draco in to his body. However, when his hands were pushed against the tiles and he was reminded of the toys he had not yet taken off because Draco used them to fix his wrists to the wall, Harry was peeved. He huffed and pulled on the bindings and complained, "Draco, that was last night."

Yet his lover did not relent, he just smiled at the frown he was being given and chided, "Now, now, Harry, you're the one who hasn't taken them off. Just relax, I have another art to teach you this morning."

The heat in Draco's suggestion made Harry curious enough to stop struggling, but he was still glowering at his lover for thwarting the nice feelings that the water tryst had begun to grow in him.

"Better," Draco condescended, but leant in for a brief kiss which revealed that he wasn't all tease; Harry tried to push against the body that was being held only inches from his own, but his movements just brought a sudden end to the meeting of lips: he pouted.

"If this is as boring as how to talk about the weather, I'll put these things on you and shag you senseless," Harry taunted, and pulled at the bonds: somehow, from the way Draco was already becoming nicely erect, he doubted that this was going to be boring.

"Promises, promises," his partner smiled deeply and stroked his shoulder. "Maybe later."

That surprised Harry, and he squinted at Draco, trying to work out if the response had been genuine, or just placatory; he wasn't given the chance to really gauge the emotion, however, since Draco was working to his own agenda and he launched, "There are many noble arts to compliment a man's life: some for public and some for private use."

Now Harry smiled as he suspected that this one was going to be for the latter situation. Still, he wasn't about to let the condescension go, and quipped back, "I thought we'd practised bondage already."

"Harry, this is not bondage, per se," Draco sounded like he was about to give a potion's lecture, only, with no clothes on and growing hornier by the second. "You have no self control, and so these," he played his fingers over the metal bands, "are my way of providing you with some."

"And why would I be needing self control?" Harry chose to ignore the jibe in favour of feeding the erotic stabs that began when Draco hovered close enough that he could feel his breath on his face.

"It is a base requirement for appreciating the noble art of voyeurism," Draco revealed finally, and Harry let out a breath as the suggestion sent signals of delight all over his body.

Draco looked down between them, and with a smile in his voice, observed, "I see you like the idea, Harry. I think we'll be needing the restraints."

Then his lover stepped away, a little further under the shower, just far enough so touching wasn't possible. Harry ran his gaze up and down the length of Draco's body, admiring the toned figure, not for the first time, but with an exotic freedom this time that made his stomach flip.

"Watching is all about the want and the need to touch," Draco divulged, picking up the jar from the shelf and popping the lid.

"Following everything with your eyes."

Harry was certainly doing that as he watched the soap tipped onto a flannel.

"Imagining what will happen, and waiting."

His groin throbbed at the memory of the power in the already growing bubbles, and Harry shuddered in air.

"Experiencing," Draco gasped as he placed the cloth flat against his chest, "the moment through what your eyes see," Draco closed his eyes and tipped his head back as the white rivulets began to descend at an unnaturally slow rate, and his voice was breathy as he finished, "and feeling it with your imagination."

Harry's imagination was doing overtime as the flannel was dropped and he watched the bubbles spread out from their point of origin, up over Draco's smoothly muscled pecs and strong shoulders, and down over his rigid stomach. The light reflected off his glistening skin as Draco shivered, and the memory of the touch made Harry ache. He dragged in breath only for survival purposes as all his attention focused on one large stream of magical bubbles. It ran slowly into Draco's navel, and he shuddered as it pressed its power there for a moment; Harry watched, his blurry vision being supplemented with his ideas as he saw, more in his mind than in front of him, the rivulet playing over itself, cleansing mercilessly. The white mass of foam then slipped down over Draco's abdomen, and met the creamy blond hair that Harry's mind told him was just waiting to catch it. Draco had locked his knees, Harry could see that, but there was disbelief in his face and the sounds that were coming from his mouth as the strong influence descended to its major goal.

"Knees, now," Harry warned, as just watching became a little to much: his memory was making sparks as it mixed with the view so close, but so tantalisingly out of reach.

Draco didn't heed the warning completely, but he did grab for the shower fitting to steady himself as a long groan came out of his mouth. The way his lover moved his hips, and the way his legs were trembling, Harry knew there were bubbles he couldn't see, and they had reached their target in tandem with their compatriots, which were now assaulting Draco's straining erection. It was only a matter of time, Harry knew that as his own arousal pulsed remorselessly, and he waited silently, watching the resistance in his lover drain away. Another groan rewarded Harry for his patience, and he couldn't control the lust that threatened to take him over the edge as, helplessly, Draco sunk to his knees and grabbed the sides of the bath.

Harry remembered this so well: the long moments when remorseless bubbles took away motor control, and fed his brain with wonderful signals. Yet, this time was different, and Draco leant back, throwing his upper torso out of the way as he displayed himself to his watcher, and revealed what Harry's magic had already taken from him when he had used the intense soap yesterday: Draco's erection was besieged by bubbles, foaming over each other. His lover was rocking his hips reactively, and murmuring his desire and Harry could barely stand it. He pulled at the bonds, not caring if he proved Draco right: he wanted to touch and help the straining arousal on its way.

Yet the cleansing got there first. Draco tensed and let out a moan of disbelief: Harry forgot about releasing himself and centred on the quick jerks of orgasm. Once, twice: he knew what this felt like, and the memories flowed through him like the bubbles, tumbling and absorbing his desire as the foam captured his lover's ejaculate. Draco was shuddering and moving uncontrollably as the cleansing refused to relent, still folding over his body, removing the signs of the reaction it had caused, and his groan said how hypersensitised he was.

Harry couldn't take his eyes off Draco, his breath coming fast and excited from his chest as the view excited him to a point where he wanted his own release. His groin ached and his body was buzzing with desire, and his need to touch came back. The conflict was exquisitely unique as the promise of so much was shown to him just out of reach, but there was only so much watching Harry thought he could take. Yet, something in him was enjoying the teeth-grinding eroticism, because his magic did not come to his aid, and he was stuck against the wall, his eyes his only contact with Draco. He growled and pulled at the bonds, and then whined, but Draco was too self-absorbed to command the bracelets, and Harry was torturing himself very successfully with his lack of ability.

Even as Draco's pique began to subside and the magic allowed the water to wash it away, Harry couldn't let go of the increasing urgency in his need to touch. The helplessness in Draco as he gasped away the remainder of the intense experience was pushing all of Harry's buttons, and he wanted to take advantage. Yet, he was still pinned to the tiles when Draco finally opened his eyes once more and looked up at him. The gaze was a little absent, still wandering in the cleansing that had not yet been totally washed away, and Harry remembered the heady after-effects only too well as he met the vague smile that was directed at him; he wanted to be a part of them again.

"Enough watching?" he almost begged, but the growl of frustration that was still in his tone gave it edges a plea just didn't possess.

"Disiungo," Draco murmured and in one movement, Harry pushed himself off the wall, and reached for his lover.

Draco was amorous if somewhat uncoordinated when Harry pulled him to his feet and Harry took full advantage. He met with no resistance as he aimed his partner at the wall where he had been held, only face first, and then went for as much bodily contact as possible by pushing himself up against the sculpted flesh. He kissed purified shoulder, and then bit lightly, which produced a shiver from Draco; it ran down his body and made enticing sensations through Harry's groin, which he had pushed against his lover's buttocks.

"Do it," Draco told him, clearly in no doubt as to where Harry was going with the embrace; his next breath came out of his body in a hasty gasp as Harry did not hesitate.

Draco was initially tight in surprise, and Harry paused almost as soon as he had opened his lover, but Draco relaxed quickly, and the cleansing residue that had not yet been washed away made him slick. The left-over magic also created an extra tingling on Harry's shaft and it was his turn to gasp as Draco pushed back and made sure the sensation went the length of him. With such deliberate encouragement, Harry did not give either of them any chance to pause, and he set about meeting all the heady ideas that watching had put through his brain.

It did not take much before Harry's voyeuristically heated body was tumbling over the edge of orgasm, but the extra dimension to his arousal made it aggressive, and he drew pants of desire from Draco as he thrust hard through the climax, pummelling the frustration of only moments ago, destroying it with the passionate satisfaction. Harry didn't stop moving until he had erased all vestiges of the torturous feeling with the waves of pleasure, and then he clung to Draco as the high descended with disorienting speed. His breath shuddered into his partner's shoulder, and his fingers made red marks on pale skin as he discovered how much energy he had fed into the moment. Draco, in his turn, was leaning heavily on the wall, gasping, and the pair's independent shivers fed off each other for a long while.

Finally, it was Draco who moved, and as he shifted his upper torso, Harry lifted his cheek off the shoulder blade he had been using as a pillow. He also drew an echo of passion from his lover as he parted their bodies, and carefully stepped back. Draco turned on the spot, placing his back against the wall, and smiled at the wobbly Harry, offering out his hands to stop any descent Harry's legs were considering. Harry grabbed the support, and smiled back, the high's eddies still making the moment hazy.

"So, what do you think of this noble art?" Draco picked up where he had left off as he stroked the back of the hands he placed onto his shoulders.

"I prefer the after effects," Harry returned honestly, and then began to forget about the conversation as he considered kissing the playful lips in front of him.

"Well, that is half the point," Draco cocked his head to one side and made his smile crooked in ways that decided Harry on the kissing idea. "We'll have to work on the other half."

"Not now," was where Harry's thoughts finished and he remet his desire; Draco was ready for him when he pushed in close and a light flick of tongue was all it took to part his lover's lips.

Harry savoured the brush of lips and the dancing of tongues, not really caring about much else as his heart beat continued to race with the desire that Draco's lesson had conjured in him. Yet, Draco's mind, he shortly revealed, was not quite so focused on the moment. Harry had more or less registered that his partner's hands were moving, but they weren't engaged on his body, so he ignored them, thus, it was a surprise when he felt pottery being rested against the top of his spine: he broke the kiss, but arms were swiftly wrapped around him if he had been considering breaking away any further. However, Harry's thoughts were not that complex, and he submitted to the hold, merely looking into Draco's self-confident gaze for answers. One look at the glint in his partner's eye, and another second for his brain to catch up with the identity of the only pottery vessel in the vicinity, and Harry's stomach did several somersaults in a mixture of foolhardy delight and sensible horror. He was still unsteady from the orgasm, and his whole body was highly sensitised, and Harry remembered the overload of last time when he had mixed another form of arousal with the potent cleanser.

"A minute," he requested, but most of his instincts told him he was going to turn to jelly in much less than a minute: the look in Draco's eyes was one of merciless lust.

"Fair's fair, Harry, now I get to watch," Draco teased, and then Harry felt the cool fluid tipped directly onto his back.

The bubbles began almost immediately, clinging to his skin, and reminding him first hand how powerful they were. Harry closed his eyes and dug his nails into Draco's shoulders, half in anticipatory revenge for the wiping weakness that was about to come, and half in the knowledge of it. With a whine of disbelieving surrender, Harry wondered if the rash invitation he had given in that locked broom cupboard was going to be the death of him: then he decided that, even if it was, he was certainly going to enjoy it.  



	7. Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's secrets and the rest of his life clash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [beren_writes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/beren/pseuds/beren), my excellent beta reader

Through half-closed eyes, Harry watched Draco climb out of the bath and grab the only bathrobe he owned, but his lids closed again as the last few influences of the magical foam made themselves known before they were washed away. When he opened his eyes again, his lover's attractive body was disappointingly wrapped in grey towelling.

"You really can be a bastard sometimes," Harry growled, not sure if he was peeved with his lover for inciting the mind-blowing sensations that had brought him, inevitably, to his knees.

"Most of the time," Draco goaded back, leaning on the edge of the bath, just out of reach of Harry's current feeble curl, a grin plastered all over his face that said he had appreciated watching a lot more than Harry had, "but say you didn't like it."

Harry knew he'd have been lying if he'd thrown Draco's challenge back at him, but he considered it for a few seconds. Yes, he had enjoyed it tremendously, despite not being sure if his muscles would hold him now, and so he just glowered his left-over lust at his partner for a moment longer, and then tested the theory of moving. His body was not, in fact, as weak as he had feared, just still somewhat distracted by the erotic assault it had been given, and he managed to stand slowly.

Then Harry smiled: there was now one of his large bath sheets waiting for him on the other side of the enamel barrier, held out by Draco, and, carefully, but confidently, he stepped into the warm, drying embrace. The towel encased him, trapping his arms by his sides, but he didn't care, as another kiss pressed against his lips. Draco could still surprise him, but since their fight with Aleyn, Harry had to admit, that the threat that Malfoy may have posed, which had made their sexual encounters a worry for the sensible part of his brain, had been transfigured into the pure spice of Draco's unpredictability; he hoped he sparked similar flames in his lover.

The why behind them became less important again as Harry's attention focused in on the kiss. He enjoyed the rub of palms through the towel as he was, ostensibly, dried, but Draco seemed to be taking more opportunity to grope than to actually dry: Harry wasn't complaining. In fact, he was discovering that he had an infinite capacity for such touches. However, he was just about to encourage the movement of one of his lover's hands from his buttock around to the front of his body when his ardour evaporated.

His cottage hadn't long been on the floo network, and it was a closed fireplace, only his friends having access, so when Harry heard the whoosh of someone arriving in his front room, a whole mixture of panics sent his passion sinking through the floor: who would have disturbed his New Year when everyone had promised to let him get on with his work in peace, moreover, why would they have gone back on their promise?

Harry stepped rapidly away from Draco, his secret, letting the towel fall to the ground and grabbing a smaller one around his waist.

"You invited guests?!" Draco let his displeasure be known.

"No," Harry hissed back at him as he heard the call, "Harry, Mate, you still in bed?"

It was Ron, and the sinking feeling in Harry's chest got heavier.

"So you just forgot to lock the fireplace?!" Draco chastised, his eyes blazing.

"No!" Harry defended again, "If I locked my fireplace I'd have half the world apparating here to find out why. They all promised to stay away."

Draco still wasn't impressed, and he glared hard at Harry as a second whooshing announced guest number two.

"Stay here," Harry warned his lover and was given a withering look before he headed to the door.

"Harry!" Hermione greeted as Harry dived through the door into his living room and shut it rapidly behind him.

He smiled thinly, adjusting the only-just adequate covering around his waist, and his female best friend went a little pink.

"Happy New Year!" Ron bellowed and nudged his embarrassed girlfriend as he offered, "At least we didn't wake him up."

"Happy New Year," Harry returned flatly, still trying to work out how to get rid of the new arrivals before Hermione got a good look at the room.

However, he was too late, his friend's eyes skirted around the places he now wished he had cleaned before breakfast: the dinner table, the candles, the strewn clothing.

"Oh Harry, you have company," the girl gushed quickly, "we're sorry. We wouldn't have come, only it was important."

"Company!" Ron leapt in at the suggestion, his eyes wide, and he moved over to slap his best friend on his shoulder as he cajoled, "You've got a girl here! You dark horse, Mate!"

Yet, Hermione hadn't finished her perusal of the immediate area, and her look was moving from one of embarrassed surprise to disbelief. She was looking mainly at the clothing that was all around the fireplace, the boots and the trousers and the shirts, and Harry could see the conclusions in her face.

"Harry, who is your guest?" she began, suspicion heavy in her voice, and her eyes fixed on the bathroom.

"No-one you know," Harry tried, but the look that came his way said that more and more was being revealed by the debris around the room, and he knew he was staring disaster in the face.

"Where'd you meet her, then?" Ron still seemed oblivious to the messages passing between his more perceptive companions.

However, someone else wasn't, and the sinking feeling finally ripped Harry's guts out as he heard the door open behind him and a flippantly derogatory tone told him, "Give it up, Potter. Obliviate might work on Weasley, but Granger will need something stronger."

Harry felt sick as, clearly horrified, Ron took as many steps back as he could before he hit the sofa; Hermione, on the surface, just looked disappointed, and Harry hadn't the courage to look any deeper. Ron very swiftly became more of an issue, as his horror went through disgust to rage with the speed of the Weasley temper and he accused, "Traitor!"

The redhead spun on his heel and charged for the door. Harry's heart leapt into his throat as he saw their years of friendship shattering before him. As Ron disappeared out of the door, Harry sent Hermione what he hoped was an apologetic glance and then he ran after his best friend.

"Ron!" he called as he reached the door, but he was not heeded as the Gryffindor stomped out into the grey heath beyond the little garden. "Ron, please let me explain!" Harry tried again, his tone as desperate as his thoughts.

Ron did turn them, and his face was thunderous. Harry stopped at the gate, his bare feet as cold in the snow as the chill that ran down his spine as he looked at total hatred.

"What in Merlin's name is there to explain?!" the challenger yelled to the world in general. "You and, and that back-stabbing git - how could you?"

"It just happened," Harry murmured, scared by the many horrible implications he could see in the righteous anger in front of him.

"So he just turned up, and you just let him in and then you happened to, to," Ron ran out of accusations that he could put into words.

"No, that wasn't the first..." Harry countered and then shut up as he realised that his explanation was not helping.

Ron's eyes were flashing and his face was matching his hair as he took a few steps back towards the fence. He wagged his finger at Harry and picked up the new ammunition with, "So this started at school?!"

Harry didn't know what to say to his best friend. Nothing would make sense in his head, and he knew anything he blurted out about his feelings would only make matters worse. Ron was not as willing to let silence fall, and anger mixed with more horror, and to Harry's chagrin, some hope, as he tried to find his own explanation.

"Oh Harry, he's not some kind of rebound after her, is he?" Ron's accusationse muted at the mention of the unmentionable: Aleyn de la Folle.

They hadn't spoken of the assault much since Harry had first revealed it, but both Hermione and Ron had demonstrated that they were protective of their comrade during any mention of his nightmare, and the conflict in Ron was clear, even to Harry's blurred vision. Here was an easy way out, he could see it, blame it on trauma, hide the real nature of his feelings, find an easy vent for his friend's anger; but it wasn't that easy. Harry opened his mouth, tempted by the resolution offered to him, but no words came out. He could not deny Malfoy so easily, he could not betray the ideas that had begun to build in him, and so, with no little regret, he admitted, "No, it happened before."

The fires beginning to blaze again behind Ron's eyes found Harry's defences and he charged, "Would you have been happier if rape had been my first experience of sex?"

It was Ron's turn to move his mouth without saying anything as the attack did its job and stopped the flames for a few moments. Yet, Ron never reacted well to confrontation and Harry knew he had only stalled the inevitable as guilt warred with anger. The anger won, and his best friend yelled back, "How can you even ask that?"

"And what do you think you're asking?" Harry decided to get angry as well, and he wrapped his arms defensively around his body; it was not only the air that held a chill.

"I'm not the one wearing those things," Ron accused, waving at the bracelets and anklets glinting in the winter sunshine, showing that he knew more about sex toys than Harry had thought: he coloured. "You're, you're -"

"Go on, say what you're thinking!" Harry dared, his defensive fury getting the better of his sense.

Ron took up the challenge, his mouth open ready to finish his opinion, but a loud crack from the cottage made both youths turn.

"Hermione!" Ron yelled, drawing his wand as he ran past Harry.

"Ron," Harry added his own concern to the situation, but not for Hermione's safety, for his best friend's hot head.

He dashed into the house and found Ron standing in front of his girlfriend, who was looking apologetic for the disturbance. Harry stopped at the door as Hermione's attention snapped to him, and she offered, "I'm sorry Harry, Draco took his clothes and he left."

The young woman was saying sorry for more than that as her eyes flicked between her boyfriend and her host, and Harry put a lid on his temper more for her sake than any sympathy for the fury still in Ron.

"Probably best," he muttered, and closed the door.

Only Hermione's hand on Ron's arm stopped him from making comment on that and his lips were a thin line as he glared back at Harry. Harry decided silence was also best, and bit his tongue. His emotions were still bubbling below the surface, but he managed to hold on to them as Ron decided to turn away and ignore him.

"Did you tell him?" Ron asked the young woman, some of his annoyance being redirected at her.

"I had to," she shrugged, taking the snark calmly as she continued to rub her boyfriend's arm.

"Tell him what?" Harry asked, beginning to think about the unexpected nature of the visit.

"The reason we came, Harry," Hermione explained, and there was worry in her eyes as she told him, "Lucius Malfoy was broken out of Azkaban last night. With all the threats he's made against you in the past, Professor Dumbledore thought it safest that you come back to the Burrow."

"Maybe better if you went back to school," Ron snarled, and before Hermione could object, he had stalked back over to the fireplace and made his exit.

"He didn't mean it," the girl tried to soothe, but Harry had heard the edge in his companion's voice, he hadn't heard it often, and he knew his bridges had been burnt.

"Yes he did," the youth sighed as the sickness overtook the dissipating anger and the reality of the situation sunk in. "I'll go back to school."

"I'm so sorry, Harry," Hermione looked like she meant it, but Harry was not feeling like accepting sympathy.

"No judgement?" the youth asked defensively, not quite trusting the calm visage.

His friend looked away, around at the room and ignored Harry's coolness as she offered matter-of-factly, "Let me help you tidy up and pack and we'll go together."

"No," Harry shook his head definitely, "go after Ron, make sure he doesn't make this worse by telling Molly. I'll sort this out myself."

"Are you sure?"

Harry's heart fell a little more when Hermione did not argue with him, but he nodded anyway.

"When should I tell them to expect you?" she asked awkwardly.

"This evening," Harry returned flatly, and then watched as his second friend also headed towards the fire place.

"I'll tell Molly you're going back to school because of all the work you still have to do. See you in a few days," the girl turned and tried to smile, but failed.

Harry just nodded, unable to read the expression which was trying not to look around at him or the rest of the room. As Hermione disappeared into the floo network, he leant heavily against his sofa and tried to take it all in. So much had hit in such a short time that he was feeling winded, but most of all, as the silence of the Scottish day settled around him, the loneliness seeped in.

Harry's brain kept trying to sort out what had just happened, but his emotions were getting in the way. His two best friends had found out the one secret he would never have shared, and, however calm Hermione had seemed, Harry knew it had irrevocably changed both friendships forever. That concern weighed heavy in his mind, mixing with the anger that Ron had judged him so quickly, but that was not his only concern. Their news had simultaneously added a whole new layer of complexity into his affair with Malfoy in the news that one of his most dangerous enemies, his boyfriend's father, was free to follow up on any number of threats he had made before and after Voldemort's death; Lucius Malfoy had never been the most stable of men, in Harry's opinion, but it appeared, even Dementor-free, that Azkaban was a place for creating insanity, if the once influential statesman's wild instructions from his prison cell to the Death Eater remnants was anything to go by. Draco had, thus far in their relationship, never mentioned his father, but with the evidence of the Slytherin's swift exit before him, Harry's guess was that the Status Quo was now at an end.

None of his thoughts made him feel very good, and so, eventually, Harry pushed them aside in favour of the knowledge that he was freezing. His feet were grey-blue and still wet with melted snow, and the wind had put ice into his unprotected veins. Shivering and cursing his luck, he dashed up the stairs to find some clothes.

* * *

Harry came back down the stairs with much less enthusiasm than he had first thing that morning, and he was also beginning to feel the effects of the long night he had spent with Malfoy. Even Quidditch-trained muscle had its limits, and Harry winced as his shoulder twinged with the injury it had received the previous evening. He'd reopened the box for the sex toys and thrown them in upstairs, and, taking out a little aggression that his current situation had generated, Harry put the same box down on the sofa and then summoned all the toys he had left downstairs. Everything slammed into the toughened cardboard and the lid flipped shut as the Freehand's magic echoed his emotions. A growl in his throat, he left the games to themselves and glared around the room in general.

He could have stood in the middle of the room and directed the clearing up from there, but there was still a sensible part of Harry that knew he was a little too connected to his magic at that moment to make such an option safe, so, instead, he challenged more left-over memories by heading to the half-eaten meal still sat on the table. His sensible resolve to manually clear the table lasted as long as it took for him to pile the plates and most of the cutlery into one messy heap. Then he reached for the final knife across from him and his sleeve caught a glass. Harry knew he had over-balanced the crystal as soon as he had done it, but instead of catching it, he watched the tall, elegant goblet teeter on the edge of balance for a moment before it fell down onto the knife on which his fingers were laid. The ring of good crystal was broken into as many pieces as the glass itself when it, inevitably, shattered on metal and shards scattered across the back of Harry's hand.

It didn't hurt, the glass just bounced off his already scarred hand, landing on the cloth, but it wasn't physical pain in which the youth was most interested: the breakage sliced right through the thin venere of calm that Hermione had managed to instil in him, and Harry snapped. His emotions rushed in to fill the void between the high of the night and the low of the day and the place settings became a handy vent as his magic, like usual, followed his feelings. The second glass followed the first, only it wasn't metal that shattered it, but a blast of raw power that travelled at the table alongside the Freehand's shout. As the shout got louder, the magic grew stronger, and Harry knew the rushing in his belly was out of control, but he didn't want to stop it. The candles in the candelabra very rapidly became pools of molten wax, soaking into the once white table cloth and staining it a vivid red; Harry watched and Harry screamed the unfairness of it all at the bubbling mess.

When the fabric of the tablecloth began to disintegrate under the onslaught, Harry thought he might stop, but only his cry stopped: as his breath ran out, his magic kept on going, and the youth's head spun. Harry grabbed the edge of the table as the brakes refused to go on; his heart was pounding in his ears and his chest felt like it would burst as the torrent of magic prevented him from catching his breath. He hadn't been so out of control since he had begun training, and the shock of it drowned any anger Harry had left.

The tablecloth burst into flame only inches from his face, and Harry reared away, desperate to stem the flow of power. Fear finally won over temper, and as he let go of the table and descended gracelessly to the floor, the youth felt the flames dampen. The tablecloth was still hooked in his hands, and so it and its contents followed Harry to the rug. He managed to avoid being hit by food or debris by pure luck, but he was still left staring at the even greater mess his tantrum had caused. Harry wasn't in any mood to learn moral lessons from the disaster he had created for himself, so he just turned away.

* * *

It took a little while for Harry to decide he was being an idiot sitting in the middle of his living room and sulking, and after that, the tidying went a lot better. He returned to the cautious experimenter that he had been before Draco's nocturnal incentives had boosted his confidence, choosing manual labour as a better alternative to destroying half of his house. He'd dumped the whole contents of the table into the bin and then washed up what he hadn't smashed. He cleaned the kitchen with detergent and a scrubbing brush, while setting the dustpan to work in the living room. After rescuing the squealing tool three times, he then gave up on it and swept the carpet by himself.

It was as he cleaned up the ashes around the grate that Harry noticed the unopened bottle of cognac sitting on the edge of the hearth. He paused in the housework, and reached over, slipping his fingers carefully around the slender neck of the slightly wonky bottle. He hadn't really paid this gift much attention, it had been put aside for a later, that in the sexual scheme of things, had not arrived, but now the reminder of Malfoy was a welcome distraction from smuts and dustpans. The bottle was bent because, on closer inspection, it had probably been made by hand. Most of the label was, as he had thought the previous evening, in French, and about the only thing Harry could read was the date - the cognac, let alone the bottle, was over a century old. Harry wouldn't have been sure whether that was good or not, except for its provenance, and knowing that Malfoy would never have been associated with rubbish, he treated the bottle with care.

With a smile, Harry ran his hand down over the length of the vessel, caressing its contours and rekindling a little of the adventure he had instigated. It wasn't all regrets in his heart: the shock of the morning could not totally dwarf the intimacy of the evening, and the youth wallowed in a few good memories as he put the bottle safely on the sofa next to the sex box: maybe it could be saved for another 'later'.

After that thought, Harry's mood began to improve. Life wasn't a total disaster, all the pieces were at least still around, and as he absorbed himself in cleaning, and then packing, Harry began to focus on finding some glue. None of his ideas for talking to Ron, or Hermione for that matter, came to much, he wasn't a great orator, but the effort of considering the problem helped almost as much as finding the solution would have done. Malfoy was left to the occasional erotic thought, being less of a worry than the hatred he had last seen in Ron, despite the similarly hasty exit; it had probably been prudent anyway.

Those erotic Malfoy thoughts jumped up a level when, as well as the brandy, Harry discovered another forgotten item from his lover. Folded neatly and lying in the corner where he had had placed it, Harry found the cloak he had so brazenly taken off Malfoy's shoulders. The youth couldn't help himself, with the heat of the night still so close, he embraced it again and lifted the aristocratic cloth to his face. The scent of Malfoy filled his nostrils and the world went away for another long, heady moment. His magic could have easily responded, he could feel the instincts deep down inside that would have vented some of his frustrations in a totally different manner to the fire. Yet, he put down those feelings as he relinquished the cloak to a spot on top of the growing pile on the sofa: they could be saved for later when no-one would be waiting anxiously for his arrival.

* * *

Harry had finally removed all traces of his tryst with Malfoy as the sun dipped below the horizon, and an hour after that he and Hedwig were packed; the cloak (for return to its owner), the cognac (for any given later) and, the box of toys (on impulse) had been placed at the bottom of his trunk. He was on his knees checking under his arm chair during a final scan round the house for forgotten books when he heard his second apparate crack of the day. This one made his heart jump into his throat as the threat of Malfoy the Elder leapt right into perspective. In a heart beat, Harry was on his feet, his hand raised ready to cast, and his attention frozen on his front door, from outside of which the noise had come. Yet in another moment, he heard a familiar voice call, "Harry!"

Harry's heart fluttered with relief as he recognised Remus Lupin, but he took a moment longer to relax out of defensive mode. The door swung in, and he was very glad to see the face of one of his most trusted friends. The summer after Sirius' death, Remus had made many visits to the Dursley home, and the last of the Marauders had spent long hours bringing Harry out of the shell he had begun to build. Since then, they had kept in contact by owl, since Harry had been mainly in Scotland, and Lupin in London, running things for the Order from Grimwauld Place. The earnest man had even tried to visit the cottage after Harry had fled the world, but he had been sent away with a flea in his ear. This visit, however, after the initial shock, was anything but unwelcome.

The anxiety hadn't completely gone from Harry when Remus' gentle smile came to rest on him, and his visitor's expression changed immediately.

"Harry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to worry you," his occasional uncle offered, crossing the room quickly.

"I shouldn't be so jumpy," the youth dismissed quickly, and smiled widely as Remus stopped in front of him.

"You have every right to be jumpy," the apology finished, and then both men just looked at each other for a moment.

The soft, undemanding smile slowly appeared on his friend's face once more, and Harry responded to the warm company with, "Hello again, Remus."

"Good to see you, Harry," Remus replied, and placed a hand on his shoulder.

The youth patted the back of the gesture and they held the mutual smile for a while: they didn't go in for large shows of affection. Then the greeting was over, and with a blink, Remus moved the moment along with, "When Hermione informed us that you were coming straight back to school, I thought you might like some help with your things, so I brought this."

The man slipped what looked like a flower vase out of his pocket and held it up.

"Port key?" Harry guessed.

"Straight to Gryffindor Common Room," Remus nodded. "Professor McGonagall gave her permission, due to the unusual circumstances."

"Hardly unusual for me," Harry lamented for a moment, feeling a frown knit his features.

"Yes, well, hopefully we can leave the problem of Lucius Malfoy to the Aurors once you are safely back at school," the man comforted, and then with a look over Harry's shoulder at the pile of books sat on top of his trunk, added, "and you can concentrate on catching up with your studies."

"Yes, Professor," Harry rolled his eyes, but the thought of Lupin back at Hogwarts brought a grin to his expression as well.  



	8. More Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Lucius' escape, there are consequences for Draco.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [beren_writes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/beren/pseuds/beren), my excellent beta reader

Being back at Hogwarts felt safe, and comfortable, and easy: Harry forgot about the hassles of the morning as he let himself be organised. Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore were waiting for them when he and Remus arrived in the tower; they had welcomed him back and commiserated on the news about Lucius, and then his House Mistress had more or less shooed Harry up the stairs to his dorm to unpack while telling him that supper would be in half an hour and then she'd like to see him in her study.

Supper was a buzz, as the handful of students staying over the holidays had discussed the dramatic escape from Azkaban and Harry had listened to his first set of details with interest. It had been partly an inside job: two of the Azkaban guards had shown their true allegiances on the stroke of the New Year. They would have made it out undetected if a prisoner, who had less love for Malfoy than the system, had not raised the alarm. He was dead, along with three prison officers after a running battle had ensued, but there had been a whole team of Death Eaters waiting on the outside and they had proven themselves suicidal in the defence of the escapee. Malfoy Senior had disappeared into the Winter night leaving only his promises to wreak his vengeance on the Wizarding World and specifically Harry Potter for the death of the Dark Lord.

Harry was unhappy, but not surprised that he had been named personally in Lucius' threats. There had been a price on his head among the Death Eaters since he had destroyed Voldemort, but it had not been much of an issue, because they had proven to be better at bickering among themselves and declaring splinter groups in the gutter press than in following through on any of their menaces. Lucius Malfoy, personal enemy, was more of a concern: he would follow through.

Harry had found himself the centre of attention at the dinner table for that very reason, and had then become an unwitting referee between the Slytherins and a couple of Gryffindors who had taken up different sides over who would win if it came down to a duel between him and Lucius. After calling a halt to the argument when wands had been drawn, Harry had beaten a hasty retreat from the dinner table lest he inspire more conflict, and had spent the rest of the evening discussing his catch up work with Professor McGonagall (it was going to be a full few days before term started once more). Therefore, it wasn't until he sunk into bed that night that Harry's thoughts returned to any of the previous thirty six hours.

The dorm was quiet to its only resident, within and without the curtains he had pulled around his little world, and he stared up into the darkness, listening to the silence. His ears were ringing with the stillness and he concentrated on that as his mind settled from the bustle of the evening. Yet, however much he tried to drift into sleep, slowly his attention came back to the anger and frustration he could not help every time he thought of the accusations in his best friend's face. Ron hadn't even tried to understand, he had seen the surface and cast judgement, just like a Weasley. Harry stopped himself at that sneer, shocked by the ease in which it had formed: he didn't like it, it worried him. He rolled onto his side and smashed the pillow, ostensibly to plump it: it did not provide much of a distraction and the nasty thought remained, so he rolled over the other way and hrmphed.

He'd never labelled Ron merely 'a Weasley' before, and the generalisation made him think of Slytherin snide. True, Malfoy had been cultivating his darker side, but Harry hadn't expected to encounter it outside that relationship. Yet the destruction he had wreaked on the table settings that day was more evidence that he was letting out instincts other than just sexual ones when he played his lover's games. He liked the thrills and the heat that Malfoy generated in him, but as he lay alone in the blackness, Harry decided that he could not say the same about the passions that had caused him to belittle his best friend. Yet, the youth was still annoyed with the redhead's attitude: he had not given him a chance to explain, had not even allowed him to try and make things better, he had not been fair.

Then there was Hermione; Harry had no idea what the young woman had been thinking. She had just looked sorry for him to his blurry vision, and he wished he'd had his glasses. Yet, he wasn't that good at reading people, outside of a duel anyway, and so Harry concluded he probably wouldn't have been able to work her out even if he had been able to read her expression properly. At least she hadn't yelled; or maybe that was worse: Harry didn't know.

All in all, Harry's thoughts were taking a very depressing turn.

The thinker buried his face in the pillow and, in a fit of temper, bit it; he was not going to have started the New Year so well and then sink so swiftly into doldrums. Wilfully, Harry concentrated on the thought of the New Year high, specifically when the clock downstairs had struck midnight. He had been lying in the arms of his lover, petting lazily, but the first chime had woken them both properly. Harry, however, had proved to have the faster reactions, and a mildly aggressive tussle had seen him pin Draco to the mattress. He had silenced any retaliatory use of the slave-band magic with a heavy kiss, and the pair had spent the following eleven chimes tasting each other.

Harry sighed into the pillow where his mouth now met only cotton, and dwelt in the steamy memory until his groin was throbbing with it.

* * *

"Ugh!" was the only comment Harry managed as the curse hit him, and he went flying backwards.

He landed on the padded floor with Remus' voice asking urgently, "Harry, Harry, are you alright?"

The youth looked up at his teacher as the man knelt down beside him and nodded. He then grimaced and admitted, "Sorry, I wasn't paying attention. Didn't get much sleep last night."

Between the depressing thoughts, the wet dreams and the nightmares, the previous night had not yielded much rest, and Harry knew that Remus was looking at the bags under his eyes. The man's frown showed his concern, and he offered, "I know you want to catch up, but why don't we postpone your first session until school starts."

Harry shook his head and countered, "I'm so far behind. I need to get these curse defences down or I can't even start next term's curriculum. I just wasn't concentrating, I promise I'll try harder."

Remus did not look happy, but he stood up, and holding out his hand compromised, "Alright, but we start with a warm up then."

Harry took the help to his feet and nodded again. Remus came to stand next to the youth instead of opposite him and they both faced the blank, also padded wall that the Room of Requirement had generated for his first Defence Against the Dark Arts refresher. It was good to be working with the proficient wizard once more and he was more than willing to follow his friend's lead.

"How's your Wingardium Leviosa?" Remus asked.

"With or without flammable objects?" Harry only half joked.

His tutor smiled and took a knut out of his pocket.

"Lets try with non-flammable first," he suggested and flicked the coin out onto the floor in front of them. "Right, I want you to levitate the knut up to chest height and hold it there, please, Harry."

The first part was fairly easy: Harry held out his hand and cast the familiar spell. The coin leapt up to where he directed it, but holding it steady proved more difficult. The knut kept wobbling around the place he wanted to keep it.

"Try and make it still," Remus requested. "Take long, deep breaths and relax."

The coin almost hit the floor when Harry concentrated too hard on his breathing: Remus laughed lightly.

"Not quite so relaxed, Mr Potter," the teacher teased easily.

Harry took in a few more gasps of air and then tried to let the next one out more slowly, as his shoulders relaxed with the action, the knut's orbit reduced.

"Good, Harry, a little more now," Remus encouraged, and with the following breath the coin came to a halt right where the Freehand wanted it to be. "Excellent," his companion praised, but hadn't finished as he pushed, "Now let's see how long you can hold it there."

Silence followed as Harry tried to stay relaxed, but concentrate at the same time.

"So, did you have a good holiday?" Remus asked, and made him jump: the coin leapt in tandem, but settled again as Harry did.

"Yes, thanks," Harry replied, and then added before he had really thought about it, "except for the end."

The knut slipped again as the Freehand realised what he had said and he glanced at his tutor to gauge how it had been taken. However, before he could tell anything about the half-expression he caught, he had to focus back on the coin.

"Yes, Lucius escaping was a big shock for all of us," Remus agreed, walking round behind Harry so that there was no hope of seeing his expression. Then he requested, "Now, try a few loop the loops."

Harry forgot about the conversation and focused on the coin, circling his wrist and watching the small object dance around in the loop that had been requested.

"A little bigger, please, Harry," Remus prompted, staying out of sight, but sounding content enough. However, then he leapt subjects once more and asked, "Is it really bothering you enough to stop you sleeping?"

"What, Lucius Malfoy?!" Harry scoffed immediately, and the coin spun round so fast it began to blur. "No it's not that!"

"Want to talk about it?" Remus enquired gently.

Harry wasn't taking cues, and he was still raw about the whole thing as he snapped, "Ron and I had a fight, alright?!"

The knut flipped three times and then Harry felt his magic spike. The flames were not unfamiliar, but they were annoying, and a line of expletives came out of the Freehand's mouth as he let the coin fall to the floor. Once free of his magic, the flames disappeared, but the boiling inside Harry would not go away so easily.

"It must have been some fight," Remus probed, however carefully, and Harry glared at him.

The inoffensive man just smiled with a concern to his eyes and continued, "We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

"We disagreed on some lifestyle choices," Harry clipped back, but then two concerns hit him: Remus was a friend, and Harry didn't want to alienate another with his revelations, and then there was the second problem that as well as being a friend, he was also a teacher, bound by the responsibilities of the school, and Harry knew pursuing an active sexual relationship at school was an expulsion offence.

He clamped his mouth shut.

Remus looked disappointed, and read him well as he told him, "I am your friend first, Harry, not your teacher."

"No," the youth disagreed, "you have to be my professor first or I'm never going to pass my N.E.W.T.s."

"If that is how you want it," Professor Lupin nodded, his face sad, but accepting, "but I want you to know, Harry, that if you change your mind, you can come to me with anything, at any time."

"Thank you," the young man returned honestly, his temper settling at the open offer of support.

"Right," the tutor smiled afresh and began, "let's try that again."

* * *

The next few days flew by and Harry's head was spinning with spells by the time they were coming to a close: Snape had been expectedly derisory about his potions' attempts, but at least he had not failed him; Professors Sprout and Flitwick had been helpful about his Herbology and Charms respectively, but they weren't Harry's best subjects, especially since he still had an incendiary tendency when he lost concentration, which the plants didn't appreciate, and neither did Flitwick's beard (he had taken it well however); Professor McGonagall and Remus had spent the rest of the time tag teaming such tendencies into submission in the Room of Requirement. Remus had not mentioned the snit since it had happened, and Harry was rather glad to just sink his teeth into work, too tired to care about emotions when he fell into bed at the end of the day.

Except for the greeting on his return, Harry hadn't seen much of Professor Dumbledore since he had been back, and he had the feeling that there were other matters taking him away from the school, since when he had seen him, he was always on his way somewhere. The staff were also talking amongst themselves, which was not unusual, but Harry had heard the word Malfoy mentioned more than once before everyone had shut up when he thought he was in earshot. It didn't bother him too much: he had too much work to really care what Lucius Malfoy might do next, and he knew Hogwarts was the safest place he could be.

It wasn't until the day before term was due to start when he went down to the dungeon classroom to see Snape about his final holiday assignment and found him absent that Harry's obliviousness to the outside world took a left turn. As he left the classroom, he met Emma Jeery, one of the Slytherins who had stayed for the holidays, on her way back to her common room. She smiled at him superiorly and taunted, "No catch up for you today, Potter, the professor has more important things to do."

"What?" Harry asked, and then Emma's face hardened.

"Are you totally dense?" the girl snarled. "Or don't you think a House Master's duty is to advocate for his student?"

"Student?"

The third year was clearly unimpressed with his response and showed a significant amount of courage as she poked the seventh year Freehand in the chest and charged, "You really are self-absorbed, Potter. Haven't you been listening about this Malfoy business?"

"Why should what Lucius does bother me?" Harry snarked back.

"Not Lucius, toad-brain, Draco," Emma jabbed him again.

"Draco, what about Draco?" the young man suddenly took a whole new interest in the conversation, and surprised his companion as he took an urgent hold of her shoulder.

The girl looked confused, and a little scared for a moment, and it kept her quiet until Harry prompted again, "What has happened?"

"Draco's at the Ministry, they arrested him in Knockturn Alley two days ago, for helping his father to escape Azkaban," she finally told him, looking at him as if he was dim-witted.

"Helping Lucius, but he couldn't have," Harry blurted out as the thought of Draco in a cell at the Ministry destroyed all caution in him. "Oh Merlin!"

The young man left Emma staring at an empty space, as he dropped his books and ran to find the nearest member of staff: he had to get to the Ministry. Harry dashed up to the staffroom door and didn't wait to knock, he thudded straight through it and scanned the room. Many staff were in their studies getting ready for the new term, but Professor Vector, and more thankfully, Remus were taking tea by the window. They were both on their feet, wands drawn by the time the flustered youth reached the centre of the room, and rapidly he turned to his friend.

"I have to get to the Ministry," he demanded unhelpfully, and when he got no more than a confused and concerned approach, he continued, "Draco, I have to stop them."

"Harry, are you alright?" Remus tried to soothe, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm fine," Harry snapped back, and then realised how wild he had to look; he took a deep breath and began more reasonably, "Draco couldn't have helped Lucius escape, he was at my house, that is why Ron and I had the fight."

The explanation came out in a rush, but the light dawned as quickly on Remus' face. However, he was much saner about the knowledge than his charge, and he suggested, "Calm yourself, Harry. Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape are both at the Ministry making sure all is fair for the young Mr Malfoy. We may take our time getting you there."

Harry still didn't feel very calm: he didn't trust the Ministry and the panicky feeling in his belly would not go away, but he did at least manage to breathe more easily and gave an apologetic glance to the arithmancy professor whom he had caused to knock over her tea. Remus smiled confidently at the jittery, but more lucid youth and continued, "Come on, I suggest you put on your uniform before we go, make yourself more official, and while you do that, I shall contact Professor Dumbledore. Alright?"

Harry nodded curtly.

Remus didn't actually leave Harry's side until he had delivered him into the hands of Professor McGonagall, who in turn, waited for him in the common room while he changed. She did not ask any more than Remus had explained to her, except to enquire if Harry needed something to help him calm down as they waited for the man to return, which he declined, and then they sat in silence, Harry fidgeting and his house mistress watching him like a hawk. He couldn't help wondering what the woman thought of the admission he had made in order to get this far: had she assumed an innocent meeting, or something else. Yet, Professor McGonagall was far too professional to allow anything that she was considering to reach her demeanour unless she wished it to, and she gave no more away than a guardian's concern.

Remus returned in what Harry knew was only a few minutes, but it felt like forever as his concern for his lover got the best of him. He was on his feet as soon as his friend appeared in the room.

"Professor Dumbledore has had them open a fireplace in the chief investigator's office, we can travel straight there from here," Remus told him, holding up a bag of floo powder.

The older man took a handful of powder first, and then handed Harry the bag.

"Auror Anquir's office," Remus instructed, "I'll go first."

Harry nodded and watched his companion disappear into the fireplace. He then grabbed a handful of dust himself and gave the bag to Professor McGongall. She caught his palm and told him, "Just tell them the truth, Harry."

"I will," the young man promised, and let his expression be examined.

His head of house had to have been satisfied with what she saw, because she let him go and nodded him on his way. As fast as he could, Harry threw the powder and made demand on his destination.

* * *

Stepping out of the floo network was not as easy as stepping into it had been, because, as the soot cleared, Harry was faced with three serious faces: Remus looked supportive, but severe; Albus Dumbledore had his hands folded in front of him like he did when he had something grave to say; a man Harry had to assume was Auror Anquir was sat behind his desk, but he stood and stared hard at the nervous youth as he stepped into the room. As he looked round at all three faces, it began to dawn on Harry what he was about to do: revealing this secret to his best friends had been hard and disastrous enough, but now he was facing those in authority over him and a complete stranger. His ears began to burn.

"Good morning, Mr Potter, I am Auror Anquir," the imposing form confirmed smoothly and continued, "Professor Lupin tells me that you have information pertinent to my case."

"Yes, I do," Harry answered as calmly as he could, but there was a tremor in his voice.

"Well, please take a seat and share it with us," he was told in a way which said to Harry that he was anything but welcome.

The young wizard sat down in the chair in front of the desk and shifted against the leather as the Auror retook his own seat. The two professors remained silent and stood one either side of the officer. Once he had been fixed into his place by the strong stare again, Harry began haltingly, "Draco Malfoy could not have been among those who helped his father to escape Azkaban, because he was at my house on New Year's Eve."

"And why did he not tell us this?" the investigator clearly did not believe him.

"I don't know," Harry answered uncomfortably, but he stared right back at the disbeliever and added, "but he stayed the night, he didn't leave until the morning. Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger can confirm that."

"It was a party then?" Anquir raised an eyebrow.

"No," the youth shook his head, "they came in the morning to tell me about Lucius' escape and Draco was still there."

"So it was only you and Mr Malfoy at your house?"

Harry nodded, but didn't like the look in the man's eye at the confirmation. He was having enough difficulty with where he knew the subject matter would have to go without the hostility from the Auror.

"I'm not lying," he countered the persisting disbelief, feeling the heat move from his ears to his cheeks.

"I never suggested you were, Harry, may I call you Harry?" the Auror's confidence was growing as his interviewee's lessened.

Still, Harry nodded and was then asked, "Why would you think that?"

The youth looked away and fidgeted, much to the satisfaction of his questioner, but he couldn't help it as he realised that he was probably going to have to be much more precise about things to convince the canny investigator. As if to confirm Harry's embarrassing theory, Anquir asked, "Do you sleep, Harry?"

"Yes," he replied quietly, and looked back at his confessor, trying to guess where the question was leading.

"Then can you honestly say that you knew where your guest was every minute of the night?"

Harry blinked at Anquir and the man's superiority made him see red.

"Yes, I can," he snapped back and then barrelled on before his courage ran out, "and I know exactly where he was when you think he was helping Daddy to escape."

All three men were now watching him closely, and in another breath, Harry finished, "He was in my bed, kissing me, and he stayed there all night."

Dumbledore did not look surprised, but then Harry considered he had probably read the signs as soon as he'd stepped into the room. Anquir sat back in his chair, hiding any shock well, but his eyes said that he was reassessing his line of questioning. Remus was the person who worried Harry the most, as the same kind of horror he had seen on Ron's face was rapidly hidden behind his friend's normal even demeanour. The youth was examining Remus' expression to see if there was any more evidence of the chilling emotion when Anquir pressed him, "You are saying that you were having sex with Draco Malfoy the night of the thirty first all night."

"We fell asleep a while after midnight, but I was touching him, and I sleep lightly, I'd have known if he moved. Before that we were not apart after 8pm," Harry confirmed through gritted teeth and let his eyes go dry as he stared unrelentingly at his interrogator.

"How can you be so precise about the time?"

"A clock in my living room: I saw the time when Draco arrived, and at midnight it chimed the hours."

Anquir at least seemed to be taking Harry more seriously, even if he didn't seem pleased about it, and the youth watched the end of his quill as he began to scribble notes.

"So, Malfoy arrived at eight. What happened then?" the Auror did the inevitable and asked for details.

"We had a drink -."

"Type?" Anquir pressed quickly, catching Harry by surprise.

"Red wine," Harry returned, and then paused in case there was another interruption. None came, and Anquir was looking at his note pad, so the youth continued, "Then we sat down and chatted."

"About what?" the Auror cut in once more, halting Harry's flow again.

Harry narrowed his eyes to show his displeasure at Anquir's tart manner, but the questioner showed no sign that he had registered the emotion when he lifted his eyes from his paper as if wondering why he had not been answered. The young man adjusted his posture and maintained his glare, but answered, "Trivia to begin with, Draco went on about Wizarding families and I got bored, so he then told me that if I wanted to get anywhere in life I had to learn the Art of Conversation."

"His exact words?"

"Exact," Harry agreed, and, getting the hang of the detail that was required, added "he said if I couldn't play politics I'd end up like Madeye Moody chasing people like Aleyn de la Folle for the rest of my life. I got angry and went into the kitchen."

The youth glanced at his two professors and for the first time, Dumbledore reacted; he lowered his chin and regarded Harry over his glasses, letting him see the concern in his eyes. Remus' expression did not change, but then, he was still trying not to look too worried.

"Was Malfoy aware that he had bothered you?" Anquir was nothing if he wasn't perceptive, and Harry found himself staring at the desk as he took the hint.

"Yes, he followed me into the kitchen and asked me why Aleyn should bother me more than Voldemort," Harry admitted and hurried on before he was given another prompt, "I shut him up with a silencing charm, and when I took it off, he didn't mention it again. After that we had dinner, casserole, and we talked more about how to make small talk. Then," he paused, unsure how to go on without goading another request for specifics; in the end, Harry gabbled, "and then we got intimate, and I am not going into detail."

Silence fell, apart from the scratching of a quill, and Harry glanced around the room trying not to meet anyone's eye line or read their expression. He knew he was being watched, and his collar would have been steaming if he had been able to vent any of the abashment he was feeling. He prayed that his ultimatum would be accepted, but from what he had experienced so far, he wasn't sure. Harry held his breath as the pen stopped writing and waited.

"I will check this information with Malfoy," Anquir offered what the youth hoped was a reprieve.

He looked back up, trying not to seem too relieved and nodded to confirm his understanding. The Auror's gaze tightened on him again and Harry knew there was more behind it.

"How long has this relationship been going on?" the man succeeded in catching Harry off-guard again.

"Last term," Harry hoped that would be enough.

"And how did you arrive at the time and place for this encounter?"

"I suggested it the last day of school."

Anquir didn't look happy about that answer either. Harry just sat and waited for more questions. The reprieve was over when his interviewer moved on.

"You used magic on Malfoy: during the course of your encounter," the man laboured the word, "did he use any on you?"

"Nothing that could have knocked me out or made me forget, if that's what you're thinking," Harry charged back.

"Let me be the judge of that, Harry," Anquir stamped his authority firmly, making Harry feel like he was an inch high without even raising his voice.

No-one came to his rescue, and as the youth glanced at his guardians, the look on at least Remus' face suggested that he was biting his tongue. Harry didn't doubt that Anquir had told them to keep silent. There was nothing for it, he had to at least discuss the details he had declared off limits.

"The Debilitus curse," he began and felt his collar grow hot where it had been cooling. Anquir was quick, he had his mouth open to probe a little further, but Harry wasn't going to give him the chance to control the enquiry and he snapped, "I didn't pass out, we were duelling," he paused when his interrogator's eyebrow raised once more, and the honest youth could not let that description stand, "playing," The quest for clarification was still in Anquir's face, and so, again avoiding the prompt, Harry finished, "It was a challenge. He used it so I didn't fight back when he took my shirt off."

"And this was normal behaviour for the two of you?" Anquir thankfully was looking down and writing when he asked the question, because Harry knew he had to be beetroot.

"Yes," the youth muttered, and then followed the urge to try and explain as he offered, "I'd challenge Draco, he'd challenge me, it was how he got me to use my magic."

Dumbledore's head moved almost imperceptibly, but Harry knew he was being scrutinized a little more and the evidence of last term was being considered.

"Any other spells?" the Auror continued as if he hadn't even heard the explanation.

"He made his wand vibrate, that's all," Harry finished hurriedly and hoped expansion on that admission would be as unnecessary as the prior.

"No other?" he was asked suspiciously and with a minor sense of relief, Harry confirmed with a shake of the head, "Draco left his wand downstairs."

Another pause followed as Anquir continued making notes; Harry sat stock still, his panic now completely replaced by the thoughts of what he had done. He couldn't tell what Dumbledore's opinion of the whole set of admissions was, but he knew he had probably disappointed his mentor. Remus was still trying to hide his shock, and his demeanour had softened somewhat; Harry knew him well enough to know that he would be trying to make sense of everything and understand it, and he had every faith that his friend would try with his whole heart, but he also knew that Draco Malfoy was a difficult pill to swallow. None of those contemplations helped him feel any less embarrassed, so Harry consoled himself with the knowledge that he was saving his boyfriend, and tried not to think about the question that Anquir had first posed; why had Draco not revealed the tryst as soon as he had been arrested?

Anquir finally looked up, and his eyes were narrowing on another question.

"Did you imbibe any substance given to you by Malfoy?"

Harry wondered if this man ever gave up his suspicions, but then he thought about Moody and decided that maybe it was an Auror trait.

"No. Look, Draco didn't charm me or slip me a potion. I know where he was from 8pm on the 31st to midday on the 1st, he couldn't have helped Lucius escape, he wasn't involved."

"When I check these facts with Malfoy, I will confirm if he was present at the escape or not," Anquir returned smoothly. "That, however, does not mean he was not involved."

Harry bit his tongue as several satisfying, but pointless retorts came to mind, and reminded himself that this was an official meeting.

"Please wait here."

The Auror stood up, and Harry followed suit. He was given a nod of dismissal and then the shrewd man walked out.

* * *

Harry watched the door close behind Auror Anquir with rather more interest than he would normally have done, because he could feel two gazes left on his back. Gathering a whole different sort of courage, he slowly turned to face his friends. Remus drew his attention first, because he had given up on hiding the concern and other emotions that Harry tried not to interpret.

"Is this why you and Ron had the fight?" Remus asked, his tone soft and Harry could hear the understanding trying to beat out any other feelings.

The youth nodded, and then decided he needed to sit down again. Everything had happened in such a rush that the shock of making the statement had only just begun to sink in. He had admitted into official record and, more importantly, in front of two of his most trusted guardians, that he was having a sexual relationship with someone whom most considered was an up and coming Death Eater.

"Are you alright, Harry?" his headmaster asked evenly, giving away none of his personal feelings.

Harry nodded again, although he didn't really consider the question.

"What's going to happen now?" he finally let out some of his anxiety.

"Your evidence appears to mean that Auror Anquir can no longer hold Mr Malfoy," the old wizard returned, which doused the last of Harry's concern for his lover, but did nothing to help him deal with his feelings about all that went with the statement.

"There will be plenty of paper work to fill out," Remus continued more kindly and laid a hand on Harry's shoulder, "but we should all be able to go back to school after that."

"Auror Anquir thinks Draco's involved even though he wasn't there, doesn't he?" Harry checked his friends' faces again and was not pleased with what he saw: he accused immediately, "And so do you!"

"We can be certain neither way, Harry," Professor Dumbledore countered with more openness than he had thus far shown.

"He didn't know," Harry defended hotly.

"It may have been why he was caught in Knockturn Alley asking the wrong questions," Remus damped Harry's fire as he backed him up.

"That is one possibility," Dumbledore seemed determined to stay on the fence.

"If you think he's guilty, then why are you here defending him?" Harry charged, preferring to be angry at his mentor than think about anything else.

The ancient wizard's whole demeanour changed in the blink of an eye, and Harry was certain he had grown several feet as he was told firmly, "I and Professor Snape came to the Ministry to ensure that no corners were cut in discovering the truth. Guilty or innocent, Mr Malfoy deserves a fair investigation. There are many questions still unanswered in this matter, not least of which is why Mr Malfoy withheld the information you have so recently disclosed. Auror Anquir may no longer be able to hold Draco on suspicion of his presence during his father's escape from Azkaban, but that does not mean, nor should it, that he will abandon this line of enquiry entirely."

There was very little arguing with Albus Dumbledore when he faced you down, but what really kept Harry silent was the worry that the reasoning was totally right: he had no evidence other than his own conviction that Draco had not just used him as an alibi and organised the whole escape in advance. Doubt, more than anything stopped him snarking back, and, at a loss, he sunk back into his chair and hoped the paper work would not take too long.  



	9. Losing Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco is an enemy once more, and Harry has scared himself badly with his own recklessness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [beren_writes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/beren/pseuds/beren), my excellent beta reader

Paper work, it became steadily apparent, did take a long time, and Harry spent most of his day in the same chair, in the same office answering the same questions until every 'i' was dotted and every 't' was crossed. Professor Dumbledore came and went, dealing with both sides of the case, but Remus Lupin stayed resolutely by his charge's side. Harry was grateful for his silent support, but also concerned by that silence: even when they were alone, Remus did not say much. He was being noble, and loyal, but Harry became more and more aware that things were not right, and he could come up with no way to make it right, not when the evidence, his evidence, was being repeated over and again.

The act of repetition made the words easier, though not the emotions that went with them, especially since most of the investigative team, or so Harry guessed, insisted on hearing the statement for themselves. Harry was left in no doubt by every single interrogator he had that he had put the kaibosh on what had been a very satisfying investigation: if you can't keep hold of the father, go after the son. He hung on to the thought that, however satisfying, their assumptions had been wrong, and that he was doing the right thing.

It was heading into evening by the time all the questions and paper work were concluded, and Anquir had finally agreed to relinquish his prisoner to the guardianship of the Hogwarts staff. There were still mutterings that the Auror had made to Dumbledore in Harry's presence about not letting either student leave the school without supervision until the investigation was finished, but Harry had ignored them in favour of a strange set of nerves at finally seeing Draco again.

They had parted without a goodbye, and Hermione had not given Harry any indication of Draco's mood when he had apparated away; also there was the little matter of his lover's silence over their assignation, which had been sewing doubts all day, so Harry was unsure of the mood in which he would be greeted. Harry was shuffling from foot to foot, staring into the fire and being watched carefully by Remus when the office door opened for the last time. Snape entered first, and Harry took a step back into his supportive teacher as the Head of Slytherin sent daggers his way: the gaunt man looked tired, there were bags under his eyes, but his stare could have frozen the school lake twice over.

Harry had become accustomed to heavy stares during the day, and he steadied himself with Remus' aid and straightened his shoulders. At that point, Snape seemed to lose interest, and turned back to the door, his expression changing to one Harry had never seen from the disciplinarian, a look of thinly veiled compassion. Harry knew who the next entrant had to be, and he held his breath.

The first view Harry had of his lover was in profile, and what he saw made him want to reach out: Draco was paler than usual, his skin was grey and almost translucent, and his hair fell around his face in unkempt tangles; he needed a shave, and his face spoke of the effort it was taking to keep moving. Harry wanted to go and offer his support to the tired youth, as Snape was doing, but then Draco glanced his way. In a heart beat a wall went up between the two youths, created by a second dose of ice that came to Harry, this time from his lover. Draco's face hardened, and his eyes flashed a warning that Harry heeded and he stayed on the other side of the room.

Professor Dumbeldore broke the moment as he brought up the rear and after he had closed the door, he took up a position right between his pupils' eyelines. The head teacher began some kind of final sum up with Anquir, but Harry ignored it, deciding that the floor was a good place to stare as Draco's hostility gave his confidence a larger battering than any of the questions of the day, and his thoughts began to search out excuses for his lover's emotion: Draco was clearly exhausted, that had to have been affecting his temper; Lucius was on the run, and Draco had been hounded for it, that had to be making him tetchy; all those questions had made him defensive, and they had been questioning Draco for days.

Harry worked in his reasoning like a mantra, barely hearing the cautionary goodbye from Auror Anquir, and only when floo powder was placed into his hand by Remus did he register that they were leaving and he was going first. He threw the dust and spoke the instruction he had been given, and stepped out into Dumbledore's office. Harry did remember to side step away from the hearth before he was trampled by Remus, but he didn't take much notice of the hand that came to rest on his shoulder for the umpteenth time that day. However, he was staring at the fireplace when Draco followed Snape out of it. He was given another hard stare, a clear warning that had grown spines now there were no watchful Aurors around, and Harry was left in no doubt that he was hated.

Harry took the full brunt of Draco's temper for as long as he could, but as Professor Dumbledore stepped out of the fire place and began an offer of tea, Harry could take the silent hostility no longer.

"Draco," he began and made a step towards his lover.

The movement destroyed any decorum that their head master had been trying to instil, and Draco met Harry halfway, but not with any good will gesture. The shove sent Harry sailing back into Remus, and if the blazing look of fury had not sent Harry all the messages he needed, Draco spat at him, "Stay away from me, Potter."

That was it, no further communication: Harry had the feeling he had disappeared from the world as Draco ignored him, glanced once at Snape, which seemed to convey everything he needed to say to the man, and then pupil and master left without another word. Harry's heart fell through the floor as the rejection sunk home.

"It has been a trying day, Harry," Dumbledore offered as the slam of his door rung in their ears.

The suggestion felt thin, unfounded: there had been more than mere exhaustion behind Malfoy's snarl, and that had to have been obvious to the perceptive old man. The platitudinal lie made Harry angry and his own frayed temper snapped.

"Are you blind?!" he demanded, glowering at his mentor with all the rage he could not show Draco.

"Harry!" Remus chastised and only succeeded in driving Harry away from his support.

Dumbledore did not even ruffle at the accusation, but he did fold his hands in front of him and his tone was authoritative as he started again, "Harry, may I remind you that assignations of a sexual nature are not permitted between students and I would ask you to be discrete about this incident and any that occurred prior to it."

The youth really didn't believe what he was hearing. Dumbledore disapproved, that was quite clear, but that he could gloss over the whole affair with a reminder of school rules was something Harry could not stomach.

"Don't worry," he growled back, "I don't think we'll be breaking school rules any time soon."

"Thank you," his headmaster finished politely.

Harry, however, wasn't finished, and all the frustrations of the day met at once as he yelled, "Stop being so bloody ordinary about it. Its not ordinary, nothing about this is ordinary. You can't just sweep it under the respectable carpet, it won't go away that easily. I'm not the squeaky clean Boy Who Lived anymore, I did what you all wanted me to do, I took him out, I killed Voldemort, and then you lot gave up on me. Draco didn't, Draco knew I was a worth something. He brought me back and now its falling apart all you can say is you want me to be discrete about it? Why did I ever believe in you?!"

The words ran out as emotions took over, and Harry was left rumbling like an angry dragon at his mentor. Professor Albus Dumbledore just regarded him over his glasses, poised and silent, absorbing all the hate Harry had to offer. That just made the youth madder: he couldn't even goad the calm man into the fight he wanted and he was locked into the motionless battle of wills. Dumbledore was winning, it had been a very long day, and Harry knew he was running out of steam, that he just wanted to sit down in the big arm chair behind him and let the anger turn to the pain it was hiding, but he fought the urge to break down. He was still angry, angry enough at the serene old man to want to hurt him like he was hurting. Yet words failed him.

Harry could feel the rush inside, the dangerous rush that responded far too quickly to his emotions, but he did not try to stop it, he was too furious to care. Dumbledore just watched him, observing like the dry old goat he was, assessing from behind the mask that fooled most people. It didn't fool Harry anymore, it hadn't since the admissions in the fifth year and the youth wanted to rip it away now and show Remus what kind of man lay beneath, and, with a little longer to build, his instincts told him that they would let him. Yet, Remus Lupin, aware of the danger or not, broke the moment when he stepped in close to Harry once more and tried, "Harry, calm down."

"I don't want to be calm!" Harry's attention snapped to the younger professor as he continued to yell. "I've been calm all bloody day, and what did it get me?"

"Draco Malfoy out of custody," Dumbledore interjected smoothly.

The comment did not have the kind of logically soothing effect it was supposed to as Harry just picked out the condescension within it, and finally his magic joined his temper: Harry felt the power rise from his belly, and the anger behind it sent it sailing out of his body. Yet, as it left, he realised what he was doing, and a cry of warning choked in his throat as he felt the attack he had initiated: everything slowed down as he sensed the raw magic drive at his mentor. However, Albus Dumbledore's instincts were faster than Harry's, and he drew his wand with a speed his attacker had not thought possible. The invisible energy became visible as it deflected off a shield that a muttered spell created and flew at the fire. Harry stumbled backwards and landed in the chair behind him as flames leapt out of the fire and let him know how deadly his intent had been.

Harry stared at the space where the flames had been a long time after they had become mere bright spots on his retina; his heart was thundering in his ears, and his mind was trying to encompass the enormity of what he had done. It was only when Professor Dumbledore moved from his still strangely serene pose the other side of the fire that everything came back into perspective, and instantly, the young man offered, "I am so sorry. I-I," an explanation dried up as nothing sounded right.

"You let your emotions run away with your magic, Harry," his mentor explained, apparently unaffected by the attempted assault. He crossed to the chair, and laid a hand on the shocked youth's arm and continued, "I had feared this might happen again. In the right circumstances, this ability can be a blessing, it saved you from Aleyn de la Folle, but you must learn to read your magic more wisely."

"I wanted to hurt you," Harry confessed, appalled by his own actions and the enraged reasoning that had gone before them.

"Most people when they strike out do so with words, Harry: you have the power to do considerably more damage," Dumbledore agreed, but his tone said that he was not casting blame.

Harry's own guilt was doing a good enough job of horrifying him on its own, and the calm explanation from his would-be victim confused him. He looked up at the kind old face, and was given a smile.

"It has been a trying day," the ancient wizard repeated himself. "Take this incident as a lesson, My Boy. Now, I suggest you go to greet your fellows, who arrived a short while ago, and then an early night."

Harry nodded, still in shock at the burnt out emotions in his spirit.

"Professor Lupin, if you would be so kind as to escort Harry back to his dorm," Dumbledore dismissed the gathering. "I must prepare my address for tonight's dinner."

"Of course," Remus seemed to be taking his lead from the headmaster, and gently, but firmly guided Harry to his feet.

Harry was almost at the door when his manners caught him unexpectedly, and the need for normality's equilibrium made him turn and he murmured, "Goodnight Professor Dumbledore."

"Goodnight, Harry," the old man nodded with another smile and seated himself behind his desk.

Not sure of himself, but feeling calmer, Harry smiled back and then let himself be led away.

* * *

Remus took Harry all the way back to Gryffindor Common Room, where he was greeted by half a dozen over-excited house members. He smiled again and said hello, but his escort soon decided that he was in no state to make it across the room all by himself, and so, in his turn, engaged Neville, who happened to enter the room at an appropriate moment, to make sure Harry got to his dorm.

The buzz inside was finally fading completely away, but the shock was taking longer to wear off, and Harry did not say much to his friend as they made their way upstairs. Still, Neville didn't seem to mind and he chatted away about his holidays without really noticing that Harry was not joining in. However, it could not even pass the amiably oblivious youth by when Harry came to a solid halt in their doorway: the reason for his statuesque pose was a glare that met his gaze when he came into view of the dorm, a glower that could have sliced through stone. Ron, it became swiftly apparent, had not calmed down since their fight, and Harry replaced one shock with another as he faced the anger.

"Evening, Ron," he greeted sourly.

However, any confrontation Harry had instantly contemplated dimmed into insignificance as he felt his magic stir at the pique in his emotions. The short, sharp shock of overload was far too close for comfort, and so, hoping the fear it conjured was not in his face, the Freehand nearly ran for his bed and dived behind the curtains.

"Oh no, you two didn't have a fight!" Neville immediately lamented.

"Maybe it has something to do with this Draco Malfoy business," Seamus' know-it-all tone came through the curtains to Harry and told him that Emma had not kept silent about their morning altercation.

A sinking feeling with a set of new dimensions, involving Malfoy-rumours and lethal temper-tantrums, wrapped itself around the youth and he in turn wrapped himself around his knees and listened warily to the conversation.

"What do you know, Ron?" Dean joined his best friend in asking questions.

Silence followed, and Harry held his breath as he wondered what was going through his ex-best friend's head. Ron had never proved himself vindictive before, but Harry worried that his sense of justice and truth might lead him to reveal all.

"Ask Malfoy," Ron eventually allayed Harry's fears about how far their friendship had decayed; Harry let out his stale breath and lay down.

"Oh come on, Weasley," Seamus pressed, but Harry was at least sure that no information would be forthcoming from Ron; there was the sound of fast footfalls immediately after the prod, and the Irish boy complained, "No fair, Ron."

"Leave him alone," Neville defended, and there was more shuffling and the sound of the door closing.

"Hey, Harry, you going to enlighten us?" Seamus changed tack and hollered unsympathetically: Harry ignored him, rolled over onto his side and closed his eyes.

* * *

The rigours of the day and the expenditure of energy Harry had made during his attack on Professor Dumbledore meant that he had no trouble falling asleep, in fact he descended into slumber surrounded by the noise of unpacking. However, his sleep did not go undisturbed for very long. The potent images of sex with Malfoy would have been welcome in his dreams if it hadn't been for the fact that it was not only his lover's eyes that drank in Harry's nakedness.

Draco had a good mouth and he was using it to make Harry moan his name as he kissed and nipped at his pecs. Harry just lay on the bed, accepting the caresses and moving where his master wished him to. His eyes were closed in ecstasy most of the time, but for a moment, Harry opened them to watch the way Draco was slowly working his way down his chest. That was when Harry say their voyeur: Ron was stood in the doorway to the bedroom, his arms folded across his chest and his face thunderous, but his attention avid.

Harry sat up a little way, shocked by the intrusion, and he would have objected vocally, but nothing came out of his mouth: he was dumb. Draco did not appreciate the movement, he had commanded his slave to lie still, and the shove that sent him back onto the mattress was far from gentle. Harry didn't fight as his hands were brought up either side of his head, he just gazed into his master's eyes, unsure of what to do. He was mortified by the stare from across the room, but he was also drawn in by the dominance of his lover. He only struggled when it was too late, when the fixing charm had been cast and the slave bands held him prone and displayed. Malfoy laughed and then, despite his silent protestations, went back to kissing where he wanted.

Ron moved further into the room, still silently hostile, but watching every move, and to Harry's further chagrin, another took his place on the last step into the bedroom: Auror Anquir. The man's disdain was less personal than Ron's, but his stare and disgruntled smile made it quite clear to Harry that he was lower than pond life. Harry thrashed his objection to his lover, but Draco ignored him, and, despite his shame, the trapped youth felt his passions rising at the attention that was now on his pelvis. Teeth ran over the proud bone, teasing his pleasure, and Harry's fight succumbed to the sensation for a moment. He closed his eyes, murmured his pleasure, his voice free once more, and sank onto the bed as Draco's hands pushed him down; he wanted the touch so much, and it almost made him forget the eyes on him, but he could feel the animosity coming from his best friend.

Harry shifted away from the lips and tried to complain, but his voice disappeared again; however, as he opened his eyes and looked down the length of his body, for a moment, he thought his plea had been recognised, because his lover's blond head came up and he relented. It was not Harry who had distracted him, however, it was Anquir, who was stood by the bed. Anger flared in Malfoy's eyes, as he looked from Auror to slave and back again: without a second look at Harry, he sat back and then climbed off the bed. There were more people in the room now, people Harry hadn't seen come in: Dumbledore, Remus, the officials from the Ministry, and even Hermione. They surrounded the bed, staring down at the trapped youth, and Harry struggled. Draco walked away, never looking back, and Harry screamed after him as he disappeared down the stairs, but no sound came out of his throat and there was not even a twitch of recognition.

Mortified, encircled by disdain and with no other recourse, Harry called on his magic. He needed no spell, no words, he could feel the rush begin. All he needed was to break the bonds in which Malfoy had left him: if he was free he could run. Yet his power did not recognise any restraint, and it erupted from him without control and obeyed his want to rid himself of prying eyes with devastating efficiency. Not even Dumbledore could stand against it as the wave of energy cut through him and every other person who had cast judgement; they fell almost as one, with not even the time for pain to cross their faces.

Then Harry's scream did make it out of his mouth, and he woke with it on his lips. He sat up rapidly, twisting out of the restraints that weren't there and ended up in a shivering heap, wrapped around his knees, his face buried. It took Harry a while to calm down as the image of his instincts wiping out life played over and over in his head. He pulled open his curtains, needing to make better contact with reality, and, thankfully, found an empty dorm into which he stumbled. It had to still be early evening, probably dinner time, since bags and trunks had been left half unpacked, but Harry was not feeling at all hungry: in fact, his stomach lurched with the fear his dream inspired and the youth only just resisted the urge to be sick: he could kill without even a thought, no spell or wave of a wand required, and that idea chilled Harry to the bone.

He shivered and then realised that he was soaked through with sweat. Trying to quell the cerebral with the practical, he began pulling off his uniform, and threw it at the linen basket. He then grabbed his towel and wash kit and headed to the showers.

* * *

The immediacy of the threat had dimmed by the time Harry returned to the dorm, but it was still sat at the back of his mind. Its influence was no longer enough to stave off yawns as the rigors of the day reinstated themselves, but the dream did make him wary of more sleep. Harry stood in front of his bed for a while, looking at the jeans he had left strewn over the top of his trunk when he had rushed to get ready for the Ministry trip, and then looking at his pillows, under which were his pyjamas, trying to decide which set of clothes he wanted to put on. Tiredness and a total aversion to being around people won over the fear of sleep.

Wearily, Harry pulled on his pyjamas, trying all the while to convince himself that dreams were only dreams and he shouldn't take it seriously. Yet, he was still very serious when he climbed into bed properly. He did not lay down at first, despite drooping eyelids and watery muscles telling him that he had to sleep again soon; instead, Harry sat and looked around him. The curtains and canopy were very efficient at keeping out light, but a small crack between the drapes on the side into which he had climbed let through a sliver of the lamps from the dorm.

The world outside could get in: that meant the world inside could get out, and that made Harry wary. His dream had made more of his assault on Professor Dumbledore than, it had appeared, had the headmaster himself, but Harry couldn't dissuade himself of the fact that his dream might have been right. He was a weapon that he couldn't put down, one slip and he could injure or worse. He thought about the world just outside his curtains, his friends who would be sleeping around him, right next to a time bomb, and they didn't know it. Harry knew sleep was not going to come until his mind had sorted the problem, and so he just sat and thought about it.

The only answer Harry could come up with was to not let the world outside and the world inside mix: he needed a barrier that could prevent his magic from doing damage. The curtains were the obvious choice for the substance of the barricade, and Harry knew well enough how to enchant them, but it was going to take a few advanced spells from the N.E.W.T. curriculum to do so to his paranoid satisfaction, and that paranoia made him nervous about casting any charm.

It took a few minutes for Harry's nerves to loose to his need to protect, and then, in short measure, he closed off the final crack of light from outside and cast his first spell. A sound-proofing would not help against magic, but it would prevent his nightmares from waking the rest of the dorm. The magic arced through his body, and the feeling was lovely, but Harry tried to ignore the addiction: it had consequences. Several layers of protection then followed, locking the curtains in place; the material was rock hard by the time Harry had finished, and he leant his head against the tough surface for a moment, because the world was going round. In class, these spells had been made on small objects, keepsakes, safes, hideaways, and the amount of concentration required to spread such enchantment over the space inside the curtains had taken away the last of Harry's energy. Finally satisfied, the Freehand lay down and pulled the covers up, and consciousness was erased by exhaustion.  



	10. Putting Things in Perspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry still has friends, but not his best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [beren_writes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/beren/pseuds/beren), my excellent beta reader

The next morning, Harry managed to avoid his entire dorm: the extra sleep meant that he woke over an hour early, and he had been dressed and heading out of the door when Neville, who was normally the alarm clock for the rest of his friends, poked his head around his curtains. Harry had managed a 'morning', but had then disappeared out of the dorm.

Harry went for a wander around the castle. He was feeling a good deal calmer than the night before. His barrier had maintained its integrity until he had removed it, which had settled some of his fears, and also, the bright light of day as it welcomed a crisp morning added some perspective when he stared at it out of the window of an empty classroom. Yesterday had been uncomfortable, but it was over. So there would be looks and rumours for a few days, but nothing he wasn't used to, and it would settle down as long as he and Draco played it cool (Harry didn't think there was much chance of that not happening, given Draco's fury the previous day). Draco was another problem, along with half of his closest friends, but Harry bucked himself up with the thought that he had dealt with worse situations.

Harry had an enigmatic smile on his face when he finally made it to breakfast: the expression was more to do with contemplation than any joy he felt at the eyes, which fell on him as soon as he entered the hall, but he had at least found an equilibrium and so he ignored the whispers he had been expecting. There was no space left next to Ron that morning, but Harry was glad when he was given a smile by Hermione, and she indicated to the seat to the side of her not occupied by her boyfriend.

Most of the seventh years looked rather nervous, and Harry didn't blame them: Hermione had resorted to confiscating his and Ron's wands at mealtimes during their last row after they had begun to transfigure each other's food. It had all been very childish. This discord wasn't childish, however, it was very adult, and wands could not be taken away this time. From the fixed glower that had come over Ron as soon as he had appeared, Harry knew he wasn't even going to be acknowledged let alone hexed, and the coldness made a dent in his armour, but did not breach it.

"Morning," he greeted pleasantly to the gathered company, and tried to divert, "How were the holidays?"

"You're in a better mood this morning," Seamus decided to ignore the small talk.

"Yeah, well I got some sleep," Harry answered blandly, trying not to get into specifics.

His friends were having none of it, however, and it was Dean who backed up Seamus and pressed, "The word in the corridor is that you looked like you'd been hexed when Emma Jeery told you Malfoy had been arrested, and then you disappeared for the day."

"I was at the Ministry," Harry gave up and confirmed what had to be the rest of the rumour. "Malfoy has an alibi, he was at my house when his dad was being broken out of Azkaban."

Neville nearly spat his porridge across the room, and a couple of others went blue as they inhaled food rather than ate it.

"But he's a Slytherin," Seamus objected, pure incomprehension on his face: half the table was also looking their way now, and most of their expressions matched the Irish youth's.

Harry was trying to think what to say to that one; last year, he would have been of exactly the same opinion and reasoning, but he didn't know how to explain the change. Hermione came to his rescue, which made Ron's frown deeper, but she ignored him as she launched, "So what? It was the war that kept us on different sides, why can't a Slytherin and a Gryffindor be friends? We're going to have to function as a community when we leave school, so why not start now?"

"From the way Malfoy's glaring at Harry's back, I'd say it didn't work," Neville joined in with an apologetic shrug.

Harry didn't bother looking, he had noticed the hostility on the way in, but Hermione glanced over her shoulder, and then it was her turn to ask, "Oh Harry, what happened?"

The young woman laid a sympathetic hand on his arm and he patted it with a sad smile and replied, "Draco didn't appreciate my help, I don't know why. Yesterday was a long day for both of us, I'll talk to him later."

"You might want to take precautions first, he looks like he might try hexing you," Seamus observed unhelpfully while staring very obviously at the Slytherin table.

"He won't hex me," Harry returned definitely, needing to be sure about something, on the surface at least.

"Has this Freehand thing gone to your brain?" Dean demonstrated that Gryffindor paranoia did not disperse quickly.

"Maybe it did give me a new perspective," Harry nodded, and decided that breakfast was far more interesting than the quizzical stares that were coming his way.

* * *

The morning meandered by, and half the afternoon followed it, mainly in lectures from their teachers that this was their last term of curriculum before revision began the next term, and that there was no time for day dreaming. Some of the lectures and then discussions on the planned lessons for the term were so long that no practical work was possible: Harry was rather glad of the slow wind up to full speed, since the raw magic incident was still preying on his mind and making him nervous. Still, after some coaxing from Professor Flitwick, he managed a simple talk backwards charm on Neville (who had magnanimously swapped partners when Ron had looked like he might spontaneously combust if he had to sit next to Harry) without any ill effects to Neville, himself or the world in general. Neville's attempt had not been quite so successful, and Flitwick himself had had to undo the effect that had every action Harry made turn out the wrong way round. There had been only two people in the room who hadn't laughed, and Harry had just tried to ignore his best friend and his lover.

Draco and Ron aside, Harry was mildly surprised by the acceptance of his fellows, albeit with reservations. The stares that followed him around were, if anything, uncertain, rather than condemnatory, and, he was in a surprisingly good mood when he headed for his last lesson of the day. In his timetable, this last period before the end of school was a free lesson, but Harry had a sixth subject in his curriculum: Freehanding. Between them, Remus and Professor McGonagall had managed to timetable his training into the school day; his first tutorial of the term was with his head of house, who was going to help him with his concentration and control, while Remus focused on application. So, Harry headed to the Professor's study after rather gratefully quitting company.

Harry knew what to expect from this lesson: this is where he had started before the beginning of last term, only now, he could not blame the sudden discovery for his erratic behaviour. He was in need of the tutorial, if only to settle his fears over his lack of control, which were still nagging at him from last evening, and he knocked on the study door rather too loudly. Still, the person inside did not seem bothered and the professor called, "Come in."

Harry stepped into the room, and was rather surprised to see his head of house sat in a comfy chair in front of the fire, a second, empty seat opposite her, and she was holding a cup of tea. The woman smiled at him and Harry clamped his jaw shut.

"Hello, Harry, not quite what you expected?"

"Well, no," the youth admitted, not sure what he had been thinking the environment for his training would be, but now he was faced with it, the cosy, fireside atmosphere felt nice.

"You must be comfortable and relaxed," Professor McGonagall explained, and then, indicating to the seat, requested, "Please, sit."

The chair was a little on the firm side for Harry's taste, and he wriggled against its straight back at first to find a comfortable position, but he did find it. When he stilled, his hostess offered, "Tea?"

"Thank you," the youth nodded.

He took the cup with another murmur of gratitude and then sipped the steaming liquid politely; Professor McGonagall did the same. Only as they both lowered the china to their knees did the woman continue with, "You look tired, Harry: it was a long day for you yesterday, would you prefer to delay your first lesson? You must be relaxed for deep thought, not sleepy."

"No, thank you, I'm fine," Harry shook his head vigorously, "I slept most of the evening as well as through the night."

"Your friendship with Mr Malfoy has surprised most of the school."

The observation caught Harry out, and he sipped his tea while considering his response.

"It surprised me as well," he finally admitted, "and I don't know if it'll last."

"We can but hope," the woman surprised him again, and it must have shown on his face, because she continued sincerely, "Harry, you may not realise this, but most people see your friendship with Mr Malfoy as a way forward. You were too distracted by your own problems last term to have been aware, but, since the war finished, there has been an atmosphere of disquiet in this school: no-one, especially the Slytherins, seemed to know where to fit themselves into the scheme of things. Hermione, among others, took it upon herself, with my and the headmaster's blessings, to try and lead her peers towards a unified future. Your example could be crucial to that end."

"I had no idea," Harry agreed, feeling blinkered and a little selfish, and wondering what the general opinion would be if the complete truth were known.

"I do not wish to burden you with further responsibility, Harry, this school has used you as a figurehead much too often already, but I thought you should be aware of these facts."

"Thank you," the young man nodded at the concern in his mentor; her honesty touched his other worries and before he stopped himself, Harry confessed, "And there are some facts you should know. Last evening, after we came back from the Ministry, I attacked Professor Dumbledore."

His companion sat back, clearly appalled by his statement, and he gabbled on, "I was tired; no that's just an excuse. I was angry, and I snapped, but instead of yelling, I threw magic. I don't want it to happen again."

Harry just watched as his mentor slowly settled, her face showing that she was assessing what he had revealed. Finally, he was relieved as she continued, "Thank you for being honest with me, Harry. I can help you make sure it never happens again."

The youth relaxed and let her see his worry.

"My magic seems to work best when I let my instincts go," he explained.

"And instinct has served you well this far," the professor confirmed, and then assessed, "but you would agree that you are now reaching a stage where your level of magic is too strong to allow instinct to rule it alone."

"Absolutely," the Freehand concurred and made a face.

"Do not look so disconsolate, Harry," his companion reassured: "Mademoiselle de la Folle may have been more interested in drawing out your strength than in allowing you to control it, but your Occlumency training means that you are a good way down the road to control already, we just have to apply it to your Freehand magic. Your strength comes through and from your body, but the control you need is very much all in your mind."

"Occlumency was all about creating barriers," Harry mused, not quite seeing the point.

"And, in a way, so is this," his teacher looked like she'd just caught the snitch as she expanded, "only, in this case you are not creating a barrier to prevent someone else from invading your mind, you are creating a protection between yourself and your instincts."

"But I don't use Occlumency all the time," Harry was still dubious about the analogy, "but my instincts are there all the time."

"When do you use your Occlumency?" Professor McGonagall did not look dissuaded.

Harry paused a moment, unsure what was being asked, and if there was a catch to it. In the end, he went for the simple answer, "When someone tries to attack me."

"And when do you need to use your control?"

"When my instincts try to take over?" Harry proposed, beginning to catch on.

"Precisely," his tutor nodded and added, "We must help you learn, not how to suppress your instincts or emotions, that would neither be prudent nor healthy for you, but more understand the mechanisms within them which trigger your magic, and be able to prevent the link when inappropriate. If you are willing, I think it would be helpful if we began with a discussion of the thoughts and emotions that led you to attack Professor Dumbledore."

Harry went cold: everything had been going so well, and suddenly the possibility of another one of his mentors discovering his secret ruined the safe feeling that had begun to form in him. The cup clattered in its saucer as Harry gripped it tightly. Professor McGonagall sat back again and asked, "Is something the matter, Harry?"

"I, um, last night," Harry waffled while his brain sought a way round revealing why he did not wish to go over the emotions that had led to his loss of control.

"Harry," his head of house stopped his meander dead with a serious address, and he glanced at her sheepishly; once she had his full attention, the woman continued, "Is this in regard to you and Mr Malfoy being more than just friends?"

The youth felt the colour burn in his cheeks immediately, mostly embarrassment, but a little indignation that someone had been breaking his confidence.

"How do you know?" he asked shortly, shifting in his seat uncomfortably.

"Hermione came to see me last night about the difficulties between you and Ron," Professor McGonagall answered plainly, apparently completely unphased by the information to which she had become privy. "As your head of house, she thought I should know that you were, for want of a better word, fighting, and as her head of house as well, I wished to know the details of what was causing her such distress. Miss Granger is very worried about the both of you. She did not volunteer the information, but, given your agitation at Mr Malfoy's incarceration, I made a supposition, which Hermione avoided denying or confirming, but which you have now confirmed."

Harry thought he might be glowing hotter than the fire, but now it was all embarrassment as his companion effectively flattened any annoyance he had with Hermione.

"Now we have that out in the open, do you feel that we can proceed?" his mentor ploughed on, putting down her tea cup rather than drawing a line in the sand.

Harry knew that he would not be forced to step over the line if he did not wish to, but beyond it lay possible solutions to the worry that he realised would eat away at him if he did not meet it. Slowly, he too placed his cup and saucer on the hearth, sat back and nodded: Professor McGonagall didn't smile this time, but Harry saw the support in her gaze. He took a deep breath and asked, "How far back should be begin?"

* * *

It wasn't a pleasant experience for Harry, reliving in such depth the frustration and hurt that had led to his attack on Professor Dumbledore, but his mentor's calm presence drew him on without casting judgement, and he fought the urge to distract their conversation. Professor McGonagall was as perceptive as she was direct, but her influence was also calm and non-judgemental as she encouraged him to analyse his mind and body, moment by moment.

"I was so angry," he admitted, more freely than he would have done only minutes earlier, "and he was so calm, it just made me angrier. I felt my magic wake up; its like a fast-running stream, falling over and over itself inside me, swelling out if I let it. But I didn't at first, it was just there, inside, waiting."

"Harry, what did Mademoiselle de la Folle tell you about the theories behind your magic?" his mentor asked carefully.

"Not a lot," the youth shrugged. "She focused on getting me to explore myself."

The woman pursed her lips, but did not voice the displeasure in her eyes, instead, after a moment, she pressed on, "Well, there are a few authoritative works on the subject of the Freehand Nature. Are you aware that one theory suggests that the power within you, that which you turn on and off is not the same as that which you channel when casting spells."

Harry shook his head, intrigued and a little daunted at the same time.

"It is your control of the former which allows the channelling of the latter, as a wand allows an ordinary witch or wizard to perform magic. Every one of us has this innate magic," the tutor leant forward, and patted Harry's knee. "Some more than others. I sense it sometimes, when I am quiet, but only a Freehand has the ability to command such power at will. I believe your emotions are heightening your awareness of what is always there inside, waiting, as you put it. A wand does not stop being magical simply because its owner chooses to put it down."

The young man frowned, and tried to make sense of what he had just been told. The rushing which had become so familiar and exciting was always there? Clearly from her manner, Professor McGonagall was trying to make him feel better, but Harry could not quite see how telling him he was always dangerous was meant to do that.

"So I'm always on that edge?" he asked, his fear in his voice.

"It is not an edge, Harry," his mentor picked up on his disquiet and answered it with a reassuring smile, "it is merely how we all are. Sit quietly for a moment, close your eyes."

Harry did as he was told, but he didn't really want to go looking for his magic. His discomfort must have been all too obvious, because his companion prompted calmly, "This is not what you must be wary of, Harry. Your magic has been part of you since you were born. Think of it as the friend you have always known. Just allowing yourself to feel it will not make it dangerous. Relax."

The youth leant against the supportive chair and tried to let some of the tension in his shoulders go. His muscles were very stiff after the stress of the day before and the difficult night, and Harry had to make a conscious effort to make them drop from the hunch in which they were held. He could feel his shoulder blades loosen, and the vertebrae in his neck stretched and then he felt relief run right down his spine.

"Good," his mentor let him know she had seen the softening of his posture, "now clear your mind."

Professor McGonagall was beginning to sound like Aleyn, but her firmer, Scots tone kept Harry in the present. It was hard to stop all the thoughts going around in his head: the worry about Draco; the anger with Ron; the disquiet about what lay ahead. Yet, slowly, one by one, Harry let them drop away until all he was left with was the crackle of the fire. Harry wasn't sure how long he sat like that, it could have been moments or minutes, but, in its own time, his magic made itself known. The rushing came first, frightening with Harry's current associations for it, but also as compelling as always, and he put down his fears in favour of curiosity. He was not unique in this, every witch and wizard could find this inside them, and he sunk into the primal feeling of his magical race.

"Harry," a voice distracted him, and the fascinated wizard opened his eyes to see Professor McGonagall looking into them; she smiled and offered, "I am sorry to break the moment, but the bell will be ringing in a moment."

Harry blinked several times and glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece.

"Did I fall asleep?" he asked, not sure what had happened after he had embraced the contact with his magic.

"No, but you went a little deeper than I expected," his tutor told him plainly, and without concern. "It appears that your connection to your magic is considerably more potent than most in more areas than mere control. What did you experience?"

"I don't remember," the young wizard confessed, a little unsure about losing as much time as he had done.

"After a little practice, you will," the professor assured.

All the 'training' with Aleyn had made Harry wary of mind games, and he let his opinion be known in a small frown.

"Much of what the mademoiselle taught you is useful, Harry," his companion seemed to read his mind. "Understanding your body is important, but you must follow through with your mind, or the learning will be lost. I want you to perform this exercise every evening before you go to bed. Make it part of your routine. Use an alarm, and spend no more than five to ten minutes on it, and then try to recall what you felt, make a few notes and you and I shall review them at the beginning of each tutorial."

"Will this stop me from hurting someone if I get mad again?" Harry decided that with only minutes left of the meeting he had to be blunt with his concerns.

His mentor pursed her lips again, but momentarily admitted, "Not directly."

"So I'm still dangerous?"

"You will always have the potential to be dangerous," Professor McGonagall shocked the youth with her direct statement, but his wide stare was given one of even understanding in return, and she continued, "Harry, you may command any magic at any time, nothing can change that. Your other teachers and I will endeavour to furnish you with the mechanisms by which you may control into what peril you place yourself and others, but we cannot remove the potential. I have a few ideas for our next lesson to enable you to begin to practise your control, but until then, I suggest you try to remain as calm as possible."

The honesty made Harry feel strangely stronger: at least someone else understood the threat he posed, and what that meant to him, and there was a way forward. He nodded his consent and finished, "As long as it doesn't involve any strange tea."

* * *

With his head of house's revelation, that he and Draco could be used as models for society's relationships, in mind, Harry had been considering trying to find his errant boyfriend as soon as he left the training session. However, a quick trip back to Gryffindor tower to dump his school books had made him change his mind: sat on a sofa on her own, her deep contemplation showing an unguarded sadness, Harry saw Hermione.

"That's what you and Ron fighting does to her," Neville's unexpected voice condemned him, and Harry turned to him in time to be told, "She was like that last time as well."

Harry changed his plans immediately. Neville was rather surprised to be handed a pile of text books, and nearly dropped the lot until Harry steadied him and asked, "Can you take these up to the dorm for me?"

He didn't wait for an answer: Neville was not going to say no. Harry focused back on Hermione and crossed the room. The young woman was so caught up in her own thoughts that it took a polite cough to rally her attention. His friend looked up, still half in her own mind, and, for a moment, Harry was hit by her concern full-force. It only lasted for a heartbeat, but the sight made Harry determined to make things right with at least one of his best friends.

"How about a walk?" he asked as soon as Hermione's attention was on him, and smiled.

The worry disappeared behind the surprised smile that was returned, Harry decided that things were looking up already.

* * *

It was snowy January weather outside, so the pair of Gryffindors used their six years of knowledge to loose themselves in the less frequented parts of the school. Neither Harry, nor Hermione said very much for a while: Harry was relying on the silence of old friends, and taking his time to find the right thing to say, and he hoped his companion was doing the same. Yet, once they were out of the way of eavesdroppers, Harry decided that it was time to begin.

"Professor McGonagall told me that you went to see her," he launched, and then realised that for all the time he had spent thinking, he had said things wrongly, because all the worry cascaded back onto Hermione's face: quickly he continued, "Thank you, she had to know, and I confirmed what you wouldn't."

Hermione stopped their progress and turned fully to Harry, who then did the same and waited for the response he could see forming.

"You don't mind then?"

Harry shook his head and the relief from the young woman was almost tangible. She confessed quickly, "It's just, I didn't know what to do: Ron has barely said two words together since your fight, and you were so cold at the cottage. I needed to talk to someone."

"I hope that doesn't mean you're going to stop talking to me," Harry quipped, trying to lift his friend's mood, but there had already been too many crossed signals for Hermione to take him anything but seriously.

"I didn't know if you'd be talking to me," the girl answered, a note of indignance in her tone.

"You might be the only Gryffindor still talking to me if anyone ever finds out more about me and Draco," the youth decided to be brutally honest after humour had failed, and then wandered over to a window to watch the snow fall through the escaping light beams.

"You really think that?" Hermione joined him, and laid a hand on his arm.

"Don't you?" Harry glanced at him companion, and her silence said everything. He continued, "I may be allowed to be friends with Draco, but," and then stopped as he realised he was about to be a little too blunt.

"But shagging him will probably get you lynched?" Hermione finished, a smile playing at the corners of her lips.

Harry's mouth fell open: the manly conversations of the previous term were as near as he had come to discussing sex with anyone, and broaching such a subject with a girl, even Hermione, caused a minor culture shock.

"Don't look so aghast," his friend teased. "Girls can talk about sex as well, y'know."

Harry went back to looking out of the window, not sure whether to laugh or be mortally embarrassed.

"Did I embarrass you, Harry?" Hermione make him squirm a little longer. "Good. You and Ron abandoned me with Draco Malfoy. We don't speak most of the time anyway, and then you leave me with him in nothing but a bath robe?!"

Harry gave the girl a sideways look, and discovered that he was being grinned at. He sniggered first and then she followed suit.

"Didn't he have some appropriate snide remark?" he asked.

"No," Hermione returned, biting her lip to stop herself laughing again, before she expanded, "No, Draco was actually very polite, frighteningly so. We could have been at a cocktail party, he was that polite."

"That'll be the noble art of conversation," Harry tried to sound sage, but thought he came off more like a bad Dracula.

The grin that was still on his face had to have been giving hints that conversation was not the only art that he was thinking of, and Hermione quickly interjected, "I'm not even going to ask."

The pair fell into a few moments of grins and corpsing glances. Eventually, Hermione began again more seriously, "You do know that if you and Draco did come out, you'd have half the school scandalised that you'd hooked the Ice Prince and half insanely jealous."

"What, the female half?" Harry surprised himself as he let the comment slip, and then held his breath to see where the candour led.

"Not necessarily," his companion was smiling, but she kept her eyes fixed on the snowflakes outside.

Hermione using risqué innuendo was a new experience for Harry, and he watched her profile carefully to see if she was going to expand on her hypothesis, but nothing more was forthcoming. The moment settled, and now that the subject of Draco had been breached, Harry decided to confide in his friend with, "I think he may have slipped off the hook."

Harry leant on the stone windowsill a little more heavily as that thought settled on his shoulders: he hadn't meant to use the talk to air his own concerns, but it felt right, and he felt warmer inside when Hermione's hand squeezed his arm.

"It wasn't us arriving like that was it?"

"No," Harry shook his head definitely. "Maybe the news you brought though. Draco's very angry with me, and I don't know why."

"He looked sort of lost when I first told him about Lucius," Hermione disclosed, which made Harry's hopes rise a little. "He was shocked, I think, as well; I don't think even he's that good an actor. He wasn't angry when he left, just in a hurry."

"I'll talk to him tomorrow and see if I can find out what is wrong," Harry decided to be practical rather than depressed.

"If you could sort that out, Ron would be the only thing left."

"And I don't know where to start," Harry admitted, and thumped the sill as all the frustration he felt when he thought of his friend hit him full force.

"With me: I'll talk to him," Hermione offered.

"Thanks," the youth sighed, "maybe the gentle touch will calm him down long enough for me to get him to listen."

"As long as you listen to him as well," his companion chided gently.

"I'll try," Harry promised.  



	11. One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malfoy becomes dangerous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [beren_writes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/beren/pseuds/beren), my excellent beta reader

Hermione had seemed happier once their conversation was over, and, satisfied, Harry had settled down to start on the homework that had already piled in. Dinner had still been awkward with he and Ron making a Hermione sandwich, but the young woman had done her damnedest to get them talking. Harry had even made an effort, as he had promised, but Ron was doing a very good impression of a brick wall when it came to anything Harry said, so both he and Hermione had admitted defeat. Still, Harry remained in good spirits, both that evening and all the next morning. However, lunchtime put a downer on his positive outlook.

Harry had been trying to work out what to say to Draco for a full five minutes when his quarry finally walked round the corner and into one of their assignation corridors. It was always quiet here, and the youth had been hoping his lover would stay a creature of habit. Any satisfaction at having surmised correctly was, however, damped in Harry by the scowl that graced Draco's pointed features as he recognised Harry.

"I told you to stay away from me, Potter," Draco snarled, stalking on his way. "I don't give instructions twice."

"Draco," Harry ignored the warning and stepped into the Slytherin's path: his companion came to a smart halt, his expression saying something smelt bad, but he did not try to step around the blockage. "Draco, why are you being like this?"

"Don't push me, Potter," the threat came through gritted teeth, but still Draco did not move around Harry.

There was something else behind his lover's eyes: Harry knew him well enough to see it, but not enough to interpret it. Yet, that chink in the Slytherin armour gave Harry hope, and he decided to push.

"I didn't know about your arrest sooner, I'd have been there if I had," Harry tried to guess a reason for the hostility.

The youth knew he'd said the wrong thing as soon as it came out of his mouth: the breach in Malfoy's cool exterior disappeared completely behind stronger defences, and Draco quipped, "Good job you didn't. I had a cast iron alibi, they couldn't pin a thing on me, but the longer they didn't know that, the more time my father had to disappear."

Harry didn't know what to say as his heart sunk: he backed away from his companion, not sure if he should believe what was obviously a deliberate dig to hurt him. Malfoy followed him, and Harry hit wall before they stopped. Yet this wasn't like the trysts, or even the intimate attacks, as the Slytherin held himself close, but just out of contact, enough to intimidate. Harry froze, torn between wanting to close the distance and wanting to run before more hatred came out of his lover.

"You made a very, diverting, alibi," Malfoy lauded with disdain, all unease gone as Harry failed to flee.

The hard edge to the triumph, and the flashing eyes told Harry that rage still lay behind them: he didn't understand it, and the incomprehension kept him silent. He just looked back at his intimidator, no anger for him in return. That lack of a rise brought back the break in Draco's façade, Harry saw it for the blink of an eye, and then it was gone, but this time because Draco turned away.

"You've been amusing, Potter," Malfoy continued, but with his back to the frozen Gryffindor, "but now I have more important things to consider. Since I have enjoyed you, I'll give you one more chance. Stay out of my way, or I will make your life unbearable: remember, I know you now, and the world will too."

Harry stayed hunched against the stonework as he watched the back of his, very clearly, ex-lover, stalk away; there was still anger in the way he moved, something that had never been in the dominating Dark, who had claimed him the previous term. It confused Harry, muddying the 'stay away' message that should have been clear as crystal.

* * *

Harry was still thinking on the whole unsavoury incident as the lunch break finished: it should have felt horrible, the whole episode had been designed to belittle him and the potent connection he had made with Draco, and yet the whole event had just baffled Harry. He was not good at reading people, but he knew Draco, and, although the words had been clear, the body language had been all wrong. Malfoy never backed away from anything, least of all a confrontation with a Gryffindor he had at a disadvantage: last term's relentless pursuance had proven that to Harry. Why had he turned away? What had he been trying to hide?

The puzzle had been so diverting that it dwarfed anything else Harry had been worrying about, and so, he walked into the Room of Requirement for his next lesson with Remus without a second thought for the last private time he had spent with him. That was until he was greeted by Lupin's smile. The professor was adjusting some very strange piece of equipment that Harry didn't recognise, all mirrors and levers, and he looked up as the youth came through the door.

"Harry, how are you?" brought back the worrying incident, which had seen Harry sealing his curtains for a second time the night before.

"Fine, thank you," Harry returned without much thought for it, putting down his books and crossing the room.

The many-armed, table-top device looked incredibly interesting in comparison to going into any more depth about how he was really feeling, and so Harry reached out and touched the nearest wooden arm and asked, "What is it?"

Remus didn't answer immediately, in fact he was watching intently as Harry played a little more with the same arm.

"Machina Martialis," Remus answered eventually. "A goal is always helpful when training, and since Auror interviews are next term, I thought we should work towards them. The academy use these during Auror training to speed reactions. Moody leant me this one."

"Great," the youth agreed, and didn't stop himself in time from turning and actually looking at his friend.

Remus' concern caught him immediately, and any pretence of normality he had been able to manage fell away. His fingers carried on playing over the training machine, but his gaze fixed on his worried tutor.

"Are you alright?" Remus got right to the point.

"Apart from Professor McGonagall suggesting I should stay calm until I have my instincts under control, but I'm not talking to my ex-best friend or my very ex-boyfriend, I'm fine," Harry returned, flippancy being easier than the confused frustration that was sitting just below the surface.

"Want to vent a little?" his friend suggested, and indicated to the Machina as he explained, "I have some shields ready, so it'll be perfectly safe."

"In that case, yes please," Harry agreed, relieved and refreshed by the acceptance and lack of discussion: it appeared that Professors McGonagall and Lupin were of one mind when it came to keeping personal opinions out of his training time.

Harry knew he was going to have to talk with Remus Lupin, his friend, properly soon, but for right then he was glad to just watch the auror-contraption come to life and float up into the air under the guide of his tutor's wand.

"Wow," he observed as the arms and levers started to move like a massively over-armed spider and when it began to create a low, and somewhat menacing humming, he thought it prudent to ask, "So what does it do, exactly?"

Harry took a step away from the machine and eyed it suspiciously as, suddenly, most of its arms were waving across the space between him and its tiny body, where there was a green glow.

"Glad you asked, Harry," Remus smiled at him and came to stand beside him. "You see the crystal at its centre?" he pointed to the glow, and Harry nodded. "Its job is to protect that crystal. Your task is to hit it with a spell, for now any spell: each hit is recorded by the crystal's twin on my table," there was indeed another green stone sitting on desk. "The machina can take lots of different weapons, but I've equipped it with defensive reflectors only for today. Just be aware that it might just reflect your magic back at you. Professor McGonagall mentioned that you had produced some kind of deflector of your own in a duel with Malfoy last term, you may want to practice that here."

"Did she mention that last time I got stuck and nearly blew us up?" Harry checked.

"Just take it easy and don't try anything too spectacular," his tutor returned with much less concern for safety than Harry, and patted him on the shoulder before crossing back to the table.

Harry swallowed hard and looked up at the machina, which he was sure had him in its sights: the arms, although wooden, moved almost organically now that its magic had been activated, and the youth was almost sure he was facing a living thing. He found the device a little sinister, and Aragog came to mind. The youth wasn't sure what to do first, but when, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a visible shield going up in front of Remus, the fact that his companion was making this so obviously visible made him feel foolish, and he decided to test the waters.

"Lux Ostrina," he cast and sent a beam of purple light up at the crystal.

The contraptions arms moved rapidly in response, closing the path down which Harry had sent the spell, and, before he could blink, Harry was blinded by his own making. He huffed and put his hands to his eyes, stepping back away from the Machina.

"Prudent first try, Harry," Remus commented, amusement in his tone, "but you might want to try and deceive it."

"I was just seeing what it would do," Harry defended himself: he wasn't that much of a dunce, and when he glanced at his tutor, he realised that he was just being teased.

The youth grimaced at his friend, but accepted the challenge that was behind Remus' smile.

* * *

It took Harry a little while to realise that Remus' goading had made him forget any caution that the last few days had forced into him, but when he did, he began to enjoy battling the wily craftsmanship which let him get away with very little. The initial light-play swiftly turned into spells with more consequences than bright spots in front of his eyes as a combination of Remus' pushing and his own sense of adventure boosted Harry's confidence. The fighting machine was very fast: no simple attack could get through its defences, and Harry found himself diving all over the place to get out of the way of his own spells.

Harry growled at himself as he came out of the roll which had been his desperate attempt to avoid a stinging hex: the Machina appeared to be learning his moves, and had sent the spell back into his avoidance path, making a sudden dive in the opposite direction necessary.

"I thought you said it was only going to be defensive," Harry looked up at Remus and glowered some of the annoyance he was feeling at being beaten by a machine.

"I said I'd only armed it with defensive reflectors," Remus corrected, and Harry wondered if he was trying out to be a Slytherin as he was sent an unrepentant grin.

Harry got to his feet, his movements being shadowed by his attentive opponent, and dusted himself off: he'd already removed his robes and now he pulled off his jumper and loosened his tie.

"Nice to see you taking this so seriously," his tutor niggled Harry's ego a little more, but then his tone changed, and he suggested seriously, "Try using that shield to defend yourself."

"It's not really a shield," Harry countered, wary of the effects last time he had used his own power to block spell-cast magic. "I just threw raw magic at the spell and then I couldn't let go."

"Just have a go," Remus pushed, and after another moment of doubt, Harry shrugged and then nodded: the beaming smile he got in return gave him a little confidence, but couldn't dim his nerves.

The last time he had tried mixing raw and spell-cast magic, it had hurt, a lot, and, although Harry had discovered in certain situations that pain could be a catalyst for other emotions, this was not one of those situations. Thus, the Freehand went about the challenge carefully. The rush was easy to find, too easy if he had been in an open environment, but in the training space, Harry let the feeling of his magic come to the surface. Yet he kept it there, just contained: he had to cast a spell first, since the Machina had to reflect something.

The purple light spell, which was normally saved as a celebration game, came in useful once more and Harry cast it with an obvious wave of his hand. The Machina had no difficulty in intercepting the charm, and as its arms moved to deflect his spell, Harry called to strength inside. He held out his left arm as though he were carrying a real shield, and his invisible power took the mental hint; Harry felt his magic forming in front of his arm, and he held the left side of his body toward the spell that came back to him. Despite the knowledge that his magic was there, protecting him, Harry's mouth fell open as the purple beam hit space in front of his arm and cascaded in a thousand different directions that traced the curved contour of an elongated shield. The spell crackled over the surface of his magic, clinging to it, objecting to the barrier, but all Harry felt was a tingling in his forearm.

"Well done, Harry!" Remus praised.

Harry glanced at him and grinned as his ego began to recompose itself, but then he looked back at the dissipating spell that showed him his personal power, and watched until all the sparks had disappeared.

* * *

The first success was not so easily repeated when Harry tried a few harder-hitting spells, and he managed to give himself a nasty bruise on his forearm, which took the brunt of any failure. Yet, after a little practice, the Freehand gained enough consistency in his defences to try and use them in his modus operandi: it took a while to get the hang of casting, defending and casting again in short measure, the swapping of raw and directed magic sometimes interfering with each other, but the effort was well worth it when, with a whoop of triumph, Harry hit the crystal. It was the first and last time during that training session, possibly a fluke, but it left Harry on a high for the rest of the day.

That high lasted until bed time, when paranoia won, and Harry placed his barriers through the bed curtains once more, but he did it with a hope in his heart that one day soon, he could be safe again.

The rest of the week followed hard on the heels of the chaos of the start of term, and Harry had little time for thinking on the enigma of Draco Malfoy: the work was hard, especially since the Freehand had asked not to be treated differently from any other pupil during his classes, and was desperately trying to keep up. He was rather glad his partner was Neville, and he developed a growing sympathy with the youth who had been bottom of the class for his entire school career. Saturday, when it arrived, was a great relief, and the freedom of Quidditch practice wiped away the fatigue.

Ron was something of a problem: it was difficult to give instructions to someone who was ignoring you, but Ginny was marvellous at keeping her big brother in line. Apart from miscommunication, the practice went well, and Harry left the field with a genuinely happy team, including Ron, who had clearly decided that their captain had nothing to do with the success of the training. Harry minded, enough to drop back from the rest of his team mates and leave Ron to his camaraderic exclusions, but not enough for the redhead's attitude to destroy the thrill of the air which was still running through him.

Harry had been ready to enjoy that feeling alone, taking the equipment back to the store cupboard slowly, so that the locker room would be empty when he got there, but he found himself with company. Ginny had disappeared with her fellows, patting her brother on the back for a well stopped quaffle, but, as he was stowing the box of balls against one wall, Harry heard footsteps heading his way. His self-protective instincts kicked in, and he was facing the doorway, poised for his company when his younger friend appeared. He relaxed instantly, but not fast enough for Ginny to miss the fighting pose, and she commented, "I wouldn't want to meet you on a dark night."

Harry smiled, and walked back to the entrance as he returned, "You're pretty formidable yourself."

"I do my best," the girl accepted the compliment with a beaming smile: she may not have idolised him anymore, but Harry knew his opinion counted for a lot in Ginny's mind.

"Anything I can help you with?" the young man decided to be direct, he'd had enough of trying to interpret body language that week.

"What's going on between you and Ron?" Ginny also got right to the point, and as if to emphasise her seriousness, she planted her feet and blocked the doorway. "You can make friends with a Slytherin, but you're not talking to your best mate?"

"Ron and I disagree about Draco," Harry retorted, his defences rising at the badly disguised accusation in Ginny's voice.

"He's a Malfoy, of course you disagree," Ginny revealed she was not taking any generalisations, "but it's more than that. My brother can be pig-headed sometimes, but he's usually loud with it: not a peep this time and when I do try to talk to him, he just growls and stalks off."

Harry looked into the determined expression that was being sent at him and knew he had two choices: do as Ron was doing, growl and run away and have two Weasleys mad at him, or do as he had done with the rest of his close friends, and tell the truth. Ginny was as good as family, and he had already trusted her judgement where Draco Malfoy was concerned, albeit anonymously. He took a deep breath and began, "It really is that simple, only its more than friendship. When it comes to Draco, Ron and I are really at different ends of the Quidditch pitch."

Ginny took hints much better than her brother, and Harry saw realisation dawn on her face.

"The new clothes," she clicked, her eyes going very wide and round, but Harry was glad when she didn't instantly flee like her brother had done: he nodded. "All those questions about atmosphere and my relationships: you and Malfoy?"

Harry nodded again.

Harry had been ready for anger, disappointment, condemnation, but he was not prepared for the look of sorrow which fell out of the shock in Ginny's face, and when she told him, "Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry," he was a little confused.

"I don't need sympathy," Harry took a step backwards, a little annoyed by the emotion, but Ginny laid a hand on his arm and he stopped.

"You haven't heard what Malfoy's been saying, have you?" his flight was interrupted.

Harry shook his head, but remained silent: he could guess. Ginny didn't leave him in the dark for long, and her sympathy did not diminish as she continued, "He's been saying he used you, set you up as his gold-plated alibi."

Ginny looked like she was expecting him to be upset, but after their last conversation, Harry was not surprised that Draco had gone down the road of muddying the waters.

"This one isn't that simple," he found himself reassuring his friend. "I'm positive Draco didn't know about Lucius' escape plans: he's lying."

"Well, people are believing him," Ginny answered, her tone lowering and her concerns becoming less personal, "especially the Slytherins, and people are taking sides."

Harry grimaced: he had hoped that Draco would remain silent on the subject of the alibi, and that the world could have found its way without their example. The threat of his private life going public came into perspective again, and was playing against the thought of the way Draco was leading his house already. Draco was angry and hurting about the circumstances of his father's escape: of that much Harry was sure, but maybe he wasn't aware of the impact his projected pain was having on the next generation of wizards and witches who were about to step up to running their world.

"I've tried talking to him," Harry confessed, feeling guilty about not being able to stop the schisms, "and he said he'd go public if I went near him again."

"That sounds desperate."

The young man nodded vigorously as his own opinion was mirrored and it gave him the courage to suggest, "If he's that mixed-up, maybe I can persuade him that the status quo and our silence is best."

"Well, you couldn't make it much worse," Ginny agreed with a shrug, "the way it is at the moment, we're heading for factions like there were last year."

That was not a pleasant thought: towards the end of his reign of terror, Voldemort's influence had finally imposed itself inside Hogwarts, and normal house rivalries had become much more serious than name-calling and the odd jinx.

* * *

Slytherin had booked the Quidditch pitch for the last part of the afternoon, and Harry knew their seeker would be last off the field by a long way. Draco was a perfectionist, and where Harry relied on natural talent for pursuing the snitch, Draco put his faith in practice.

As he had done several times during the weeks of their affair, Harry hid himself under the stands. He wrapped himself up in his everyday cloak and watched the practice through the gaps in the boarding above him. Draco was flying like a wild man, diving and climbing at dangerous angles, so much so that he exchanged words with his captain over the risks he was taking. Harry didn't care about the details of the practice, he just liked to watch Draco fly. With the wind whipping his hair, and the determined focus of the seeker in his eyes, Draco was a captivating sight: the other fliers were just a distraction who crossed Harry's field of view from time to time. In fact, he didn't really notice when they left their seeker to himself.

It was beginning to get dark in the January afternoon, but the sky was clear and so the light persisted, casting orange and reds over the world. Draco was pushing his luck with both the light and his acrobatics, as, without supervision, his moves came faster and harder than was safe. Without the team around him, the focus of the sportsman had changed to something else that made the hairs on Harry's neck stand on end as he watched him from his hiding place. Draco's pursuance of the snitch was savage, as direct and uninhibited as had been his hunting of Harry, and the hider found his heart beating faster with his witness.

The golds of the light highlighted the line of Draco's body, and picked out the speed of the air as it played in his hair, underlining the fury that was driving the solitary flier. Harry wanted to be up there with him, free from the weight of world, experiencing the pure exhilaration that was broom-flight. Yet the very anger which made his pulse increase kept Harry routed to the earth: the rage he could see in Draco's whole demeanour was aimed at him. The excitement of facing that fury was not a pleasant thrill, but it had to be faced, and Harry wrapped his cloak further round himself and prepared his psyche for the bashing he was expecting as his ex-lover finally descended to the ground.

Draco was not expecting company: his face showed fatigue and his eyes frustration as he climbed off his broom and put the snitch, which he had ripped out of the air a moment before, into the ball box. It was almost dark, and the twilight hid him as Harry crossed the pitch. He was silent in his movements, and Draco's attention was inward, so it was Harry who had to alert him to his presence with, "Pretty impressive flying, Draco."

Instantly the fatigue disappeared from his companion, and Harry found himself with a wand in his face and its owner almost growling at him. Harry looked back down the length of the weapon, and found himself strangely calm about being threatened in such an overt manner. Draco was off balance, that much was obvious, and gave Harry the upper hand, so he used it in his silence.

"Don't you ever follow orders?" Draco broke the stillness as he forced the derision through the shock Harry knew he had seen.

"Only when I know those orders aren't based on lies," Harry decided that he probably had only a short while to make his point. "Why are you lying about us?"

"There is no us, there never was," Draco spat back, but he turned away again.

"Oh yes, that's right, you were using me," Harry took the advantage and sneered a little himself. "You had no idea what was going on that night, and I selected the date, not you."

Malfoy looked back over his shoulder, his eyes blazing: Harry folded his arms and let his own distaste of the situation be seen.

"Dammit, Draco, don't you know the rest of this school is using us as role models, and right now we're heading back into war," Harry tried again as he was faced with angry silence.

"Good, there always has to be two sides," Draco turned back fully, and Harry realised he had given him some ground when he had admitted his concerns.

"No there doesn't," he argued, trying to keep his temper under control. "Don't make your father's mistakes."

Harry lost any advantage he had left in that split second. In the gloom it took him a moment to realise that Draco had gone from anger to unreasoning rage, and that moment was all it took for a physical attack. Malfoy barrelled into Harry, the growl in his throat becoming a shout, and the two youths went down. Harry landed heavily on his back, Draco on top of him, and the world went round as his head hit the soggy earth. His daze took away any control of the situation he had had, and as he blinked up at his attacker, Draco took back his normal mastery.

"Don't you ever talk about my father again," Malfoy warned, his hands gripping shirt and he pushed Harry into the cold winter soil. "It doesn't matter what you know, or want to think, Gryffindor. This world will believe what I have to tell them. You can refute it all you like, but what are you going to say when they think its just the denials of a closet homo? You'll have to deny everything to convince even your gang of lions, and you can't do that, can you, my honest little Gryffindor. Even they'll want to hear me, because what I have to say is juicier than any denial. People like gossip, Potter, and now you'll never know what they'll be hearing next."

With that, Draco climbed off Harry, digging knee into groin as he did so. Harry tried to hold on to the groan in his throat, but Malfoy's weight was enough to make him see stars, and he rolled helplessly into a ball as he was left to his own devices. He expected another gloat, a little overt domination to go with the cutting speech, but there was nothing, only silence: Draco had gone.  
  



	12. Getting a Few Things Sorted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gryffindors can be surprising.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [beren_writes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/beren/pseuds/beren), my excellent beta reader

Harry limped back to the tower, his groin sore and the rest of his body cold and wet. His everyday cloak and jeans were soaked with mud from the Quidditch field, and he was generally in low spirits. The same confusion about Draco's motives was this time not as effective in keeping away the doldrums: Draco was gone. Malfoy, the vindictive bastard of a Slytherin, was all that remained and Harry was certain his life was about to turn nasty. He didn't really want to believe the hatred that had been spat into his face, and a little part of his psyche held on to the boon of the strange reactions that had accompanied Malfoy's rage, but most of him was trying to find some defences for when the gossip started flowing.

The common room was, as was usual for a Saturday, overflowing with his housemates, and most pairs of eyes went round with curiosity when Harry walked in looking like a drowned rat. He nodded to a few, and tried to smile, as if his state had been due to some stupid accident that didn't bother him at all: some people believed him. Ginny and Hermione, who were sat together, and looked like they'd been waiting, were definitely not convinced, and they both stood up, their concern on their faces.

The big room was no place for a delicate conversation, and Harry carried on through and up the stairs, quickly followed by the two young women. As soon as he'd passed the first corner out of sight of the main room, Harry turned and met his two friends.

"Talking didn't help," he tried not the snarl, but he could hear the hostility in his own voice as company made him uncomfortable. "My private life is going to be public knowledge by tomorrow morning."

"Oh Harry, I'm sorry," Ginny immediately showed her guilt for her part in the idea.

Harry was in the mood to share his misery, so he didn't let his younger friend off the hook as he continued, "Looks like war is where Malfoy wants us to go."

"No, he's hurting over his father, but he can't really want that," Hermione objected, but her eyes said that she did not believe her own words.

Harry just glared at her a moment, and then turned away: he did not want to deal with all the consequences of the failed meeting, and so he told his companion's flatly, "I'm going to get changed," and retreated.

* * *

Harry spent the rest of Saturday in retreat: he had no appetite, so he just took his homework behind his bed curtains and stayed there until everyone else had retired for the night. There was not much talking from his dorm mates as they fell into bed, and so Harry was completely in the dark as to how far the gossip had spread when he rose the next morning. He quit the dorm early, planning on raiding the kitchen and staying out of the way of civilisation for the rest of the day, but as he descended into the common room, he discovered that he had pre-empted.

Sat in pretty much the same place as they had been the previous evening were Ginny and Hermione, and their attentions snapped to the boy's staircase as Harry stepped into the room.

"Morning, Harry," Ginny began, her face somewhere between nonchalance and concern. "We thought you might try hiding for the rest of your school career, and Malfoy doesn't deserve to win like that, so we're not going to let you."

Harry had to smile at the direct approach, despite the cowardly part of him that wanted to do just what Ginny had suggested. However, halfway through the gesture, he felt his brow knit, and, as he walked over to his friends, he asked tentatively, "So, how far has it got and how bad is it?"

The girls looked at each other, trouble in their expressions, and it was Hermione who answered, "The bad news is that by the end of dinner it was all round the hall. The not so bad news is that Malfoy seems to have limited his suggestions to a romantic supper."

"That's just because he wants to drag this out," Harry growled, throwing himself down on the sofa next to Ginny. "He's not going to stop there."

"Well, that's all he's said for now," Ginny tried to soothe, and placed a hand on his leg.

Harry wasn't in the mood for solace, and he complained, "So the whole school knows I fly for the other team, and they think I was duped by Malfoy. I think he's done quite enough."

There was no answer to that, and Harry closed his eyes with a sigh, preferring not to look at the worried faces of his companions.

"You could always deny it," Ginny suggested, and Harry's eyes flicked open as he showed his surprise; his friend looked startled by his response and added, "The being duped bit, I mean."

The youth tried to settle: he had not thought he was so uptight, but his companions had made him face that from which he had indeed been trying to run, and his emotional avoidance tactics were working about as well as his physical one had done. He patted the back of Ginny's hand and sighed again before he answered with more calm than he felt, "As Malfoy pointed out yesterday, to even have a chance of people believing me, I either have to deny it all or none of it, and I'm not a good enough liar to deny it all."

"Anyway, lying will only make things turn out worse than they already are," Hermione agreed, sounding very much like Professor McGonagall.

"I wish I could lie as well as Malfoy," the youth lamented.

"No you don't!"

"No, I suppose I don't," Harry concurred with the soft chide, and then rolled his eyes and smiled his frustration as he decided, "But I wish I had a better taste in boyfriends."

The change in his manner must have triggered something in his friends, because Ginny surprised him for a second time that morning as she followed up his throw away thought with, "How did you get it together with Malfoy, of all people?"

And for the second time as well, Ginny looked uncomfortable when Harry pinned her to her seat with a wide-eyed stare, but she didn't back down and the question was in her eyes, and Hermione's too, but she would never have made such a bold enquiry. Harry laughed, more to cover the leap in his thoughts the question inspired than any humour he was feeling. He shook his head.

"You think you were surprised!" he commented, still trying to work out if he was going to answer and how best to do so without revealing the details he had decided would never be shared. "Malfoy was determined to bring my magic out: I think I fascinated him," Harry found himself wording ideas that he had kept to himself since he had begun to think on the nature of his relationship with Malfoy. "We were spending more time near each other, alone, than we had in our entire school careers and it just happened. I don't think either of us expected it."

"But you're mortal enemies," Hermione clearly did not understand any of the explanation.

"Dark can't exist without Light," Harry dragged up the rhetoric that had been Malfoy's excuse to pursue him.

"Piffle!" Hermione countered, her tone a little too emphatic for Harry's comfort.

"His words, not mine," Harry shrugged and then apologised, "I'm sorry if I've messed up your pax."

The young woman settled away from the pique, but did not reply, so Ginny stepped into the silence with, "I can see Hermione's point: you were trying to kill each other last year."

"Things changed."

Harry would have continued, but the sound of footsteps on the boy's stairwell interrupted the moment, and all three seventh years were watching the entrance when their interloper came into view. Rising early appeared to be a seventh year itch that morning, because it was Neville who came into view, and when he too saw his fellows, he looked like he'd just been caught out of bounds.

"Morning, Nev," Harry greeted evenly.

The youth stopped at the bottom of the stairs and hopped from foot to foot and looked from person to person, clearly very ill at ease. The discomfort from one of his closer dorm mates got to Harry very quickly, and the thought of running came back to mind. The hand that was still covering Ginny's found itself gripped, and when he glanced at his female friends, Harry knew they had seen his reaction. Hermione took the lead and challenged, "Is there something wrong, Neville?"

"Um," the reticent boy came a few steps further into the room, his disquiet more than obvious. "Seamus overheard your plan last night, Hermione, and we, that is, the lads, were wondering if," Neville looked from person to person again, and seemed to be trying to work up to something.

"If?" Hermione and Ginny prompted in unison.

Neville was openly daunted by the two young women, but he took a deep breath and continued, "If you, or Harry," was added as an after thought, "would mind if we borrowed him for a while."

Hermione stared at Neville, open mouthed; Ginny laughed; Harry went hot and cold and didn't know whether to laugh or cry. That was an ultimatum even if it had been delivered with Neville's taciturn manner.

"Why can't 'the lads' come down here?" Hermione defended the worry in Harry.

"The dorm would like to get a few things sorted out," Neville tried to sound official, but came off sounding only slightly less anxious than Harry felt.

"Oh, they would, would they?" Ginny's sense of humour evaporated at the officious suggestion.

His younger friend ready to snap brought Harry out of his shell, and he squeezed her hand to stop a tirade and stepped in with, "Nev, you shouldn't let them get you to do their dirty work."

Longbottom frowned, and a bluster was coming, so Harry stood up and stopped that as well by deciding, "Alright, lead the way."

Hermione and Ginny both followed on his heels as he headed back towards the stairs, but he turned to their worried faces and assured them, "Stay here, I won't be long."

* * *

Neville didn't say anything as he led the way up, and Harry stared at his back, wondering if he knew his supposed friends any more. Homophobia had never entered his head last term, but Malfoy's dig the previous evening had brought the idea to the front of his thoughts, and the way his companion was acting made Harry wonder if he was encountering his first such situation. The very thought that he worried Neville made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and his skin crawled, but it was nothing when compared with the wall of bodies that met him when he came back into the room. This was no casual semi-circle of friends this time: in fact, Ron looked like he didn't want to be any where near the welcoming committee who were stood in solidarity in the middle of the room. Neville swiftly crossed to join them and then looked at him from slightly behind Dean's shoulder.

Harry felt his brow knit: he couldn't help it as his defences rose, his magic in tandem with them. The fear generated by the closeness of his power dwarfed any emotion that had caused the rise in the Freehand the instant he felt it. He had progressed no further than losing more time when linking with his innate magic in his second session with Professor McGonagall, and so his method of keeping calm was to sit on everything, emotion and magic and his physical reactions, so Harry came to a halt just inside the door, staring at his confederates.

"Harry," Seamus revealed he had been nominated spokesman as he greeted somewhat formally, "we wanted to have a chat last night, but your curtains were closed, but we'd like to get a few things straight before breakfast."

Harry just nodded to acknowledge the fact he had heard, and tried not to make anything out of the Irish youth's noncommittal tone. His comrades glanced at each other, and shifted awkwardly for a moment.

"This Malfoy business," Seamus pressed on, his normal devil-may-care attitude uncomfortably missing: Harry held his breath. "We think he's behaving like a prize git."

Harry let the air out again in a rush, and his hostility fell away into surprise. His companions looked at him, and it took him a moment to realise that it was his turn to say something. All he could manage was a small, "Thank you."

That was enough: the foursome visibly relaxed and the world started again.

"Harry, are you alright, you looked like you were about to fry us?" Neville expressed his feelings first.

"I was considering it," Harry only half joked, and came further into the room.

As he came near them, Ron peeled off from the group, which concerned Harry, but his best-friend's expression was one of uncertainty, not anger, which gave Harry some hope. From experience, he decided that Weasleys were best left alone in such situations and so he focused on the other three youths and gave Ron the space he was after.

"Malfoy got you on edge?" Seamus continued in his usual blunt way that Harry found strangely comforting.

"I didn't think it showed," Harry chose sarcasm over sincerity, it was easier.

However, the youth discovered that his friends were not in the mood, and Dean chided, "Harry, we're trying to be serious."

Harry decided that serious could be done with his back turned as the prospect of awkward questions found his yellow streak, and he walked over to his bed and acted like he was looking for something.

"Okay," he capitulated to the will of his peers, "yes, I'm on edge. What else did you want to talk about?"

There was silence again, and some shuffling, and Harry found his bed covers very interesting as he chose not to turn round. He tried to sound nonchalant as he encouraged, "Come on, I don't bite."

A muffled slap was followed by a sound of pain from Neville and then the youth cleared his throat.

"Um," he began hesitantly, "last term, um, all the talk, you know, about assets, um, girls assets, um were you, um, um," Harry wondered how many more 'um's were going to take Neville to his point, but he just waited, "were you faking it?"

"No," Harry scoffed, and turned round before he remembered he didn't want to: protectively, he crossed his arms around his chest and faced the surprised blinks of his companions.

Clearly, the other youths had expected the affirmative, and the denial wasn't sitting well. Confused himself, Harry paused. He had never tried to define the fact that he had been obsessed by another man, but could still be attracted to a woman; so maybe he wasn't exclusively gay, it hadn't mattered before his sexuality had become public knowledge. Dropping his eyes to the ground, and feeling a heat come to his face, Harry began again, "I 'spose I must be bi."

"Well at least that'll stop Lavender bleating about the waste to womankind," Dean fired his own form of tension release into the difficult atmosphere.

"Er, I think she was talking about Malfoy," Neville commented, and drew everyone's attention; Dean and Seamus were glowering at him, and he slapped his hand over his mouth, his expression aghast.

Harry's sense of irony at that gem made him laugh, and, shaking his head, he sat down on his bed. Nev crossed the room quickly and sat down next to him, stammering, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything."

"Honesty I can handle it," Harry sighed, but stopped himself from dwelling on the lies and half truths Malfoy was spreading by asking, "So, Lavender thinks Malfoy's a catch: what is everyone else thinking?"

Longbottom was not taking any more chances with his mouth, and he looked immediately to Seamus for input. The atmosphere eased a little as Harry indulged his need for irreverence and followed Neville's lead. Seamus frowned, but more in thought than concern, and he disclosed with a curl to his lip, and a hand on his heart, "The Hufflepuff girls are, to a female, all blubbing about the tragic romance that has been torn apart by social divides."

Harry snorted at the comic turn, and quipped, "It never was a romance."

"No one ever said those girls were rational about these things," Seamus shrugged, "and some of the boys are as bad."

"What-?" Neville began, but Dean had caught his best friend's enthusiasm and cut in, "And if you thought you were a pet project for the Ravenclaws when they found out about your Freehanding, you should have heard them last night: an hour after dinner they were piling out of the library with all sorts of facts. Did you know that you and Malfoy are the first students to come out at school since the sixties, when it was the in thing?"

"That makes me feel so much better," Harry groaned, and rolled his eyes.

A moment's pause followed, and gave Longbottom a chance to try again. Harry had noticed his attempt to communicate and heard his intake of breath and assumed another go, but his first couple of words were drowned out by the dorm double act as Seamus picked up the discourse once more.

"Pavarti says that Padma and her friends were engrossed by the whole thing, and they found a reference to a Freehand from the seventeen hundreds who was out and out gay, and so there's now a theory that being a Freehand and liking your own sex might be linked."

That little gem just made Harry laugh: he had heard some wild ideas about himself, before and after he had killed Voldemort, but that idea was stretching things.

"What was it?" Neville tried yet again and his tone was loud and curious over the sounds of derision that were being shared.

"What was what, Nev?" Harry finally gave his seated friend his full attention.

The youth looked awkward for a moment, unsure of himself, but Harry just waited and Longbottom finally made himself clear with, "If it wasn't a romance, then what was it?"

Neville could be surprising sometimes, and the fact that he had picked up the subtleties in the throw away statement at once worried and impressed Harry. Now he had to find an answer that didn't involve an explanation of the compulsiveness he felt when faced with Malfoy's wiry body. It took him a moment, but he had been learning the art of snark from his Slytherin lover, and the thought formed and came out of his mouth before he had really caught up with it.

"Malfoy's a bloody good kisser," he quipped and let his mouth curl at the aghast look on Neville's face.

He stood up and grinned unrepentantly around at the now silent group, and made use of the edge he had just gained as he announced, "Come on, let's go to breakfast, I want to be sat down before everyone else arrives."

Harry was quite surprised with his success when three of his four dorm mates fell in behind him without dispute; Ron, was slower to respond to the rallying call, but as he disappeared down the stairs, Harry heard Neville call their reticent friend, and he let himself be content with the knowledge that others could at least broker truce between them.  
  



	13. Friendship Setbacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is still trying to make things up with Ron.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [beren_writes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/beren/pseuds/beren), my excellent beta reader

The group of seventh years picked up Ginny and Hermione on the way through the common room, and Harry was very glad of the solidarity that surrounded him on the way to and during breakfast. Arriving early did avoid the embarrassment of bringing the hall to a standstill, but it did not altogether stop the stares and mutterings that ensued when other pupils spotted their gossip focus. Harry ignored the attention he was receiving by engaging in any conversation he could think of with his fellows, who seemed happy to join in.

The fact that many of their senior house mates were treating him normally meant that any awkwardness from the lower years on the Gryffindor table disappeared quickly, but this was not the case with the other houses. Hufflepuff girls did indeed look like they wanted to burst into tears whenever Harry caught any eye, and the boys just looked curious or worried. Harry tried to ignore the Ravenclaws: he was not fond of feeling like an observational experiment.

None of the interest from the other houses, however, compared with Slytherin. There was no overt taunting, and Harry sat with his back to the Slytherin table to block any silent gloating, but that didn't mean he wasn't acutely aware of the moment when his seducer walked in to the Great Hall. The silence that fell would have been enough to tell him that both sides of the gossip tryst were now present, but the way his companions' faces all darkened in tandem when they looked over his shoulder added weight to the moment. Harry fixed his eyes on Hermione, who had seated herself opposite him and took his heavy attention very well. He had no idea what to expect from Malfoy's wrath that morning, and he held his breath, waiting for anything. He was therefore left feeling relieved and a little under whelmed when no threats or disdain were forthcoming. Still, his appetite disappeared completely, and his plate remained untouched for the rest of the meal.

Ron noticed Harry's discomfort (Harry caught his glances when his friend thought he wasn't looking), and the pair shared silence as the world went on around them. The company made Harry feel a little better about the eyes he could feel on his back. Malfoy was watching, he didn't need to turn and meet the stare, it bored into him much more effectively through his imagination than any glare of reality. Eventually, the attention grew too much, and Harry pushed his plate away and with a sigh, announced, "I'm going for a walk."

"I'll come with you."

The support was not unexpected from the Gryffindor crowd that Harry had around him, but the source was: Ron. Harry showed his surprise, and was sent a vaguely defensive stare, and so he forced out a small, "Thank you."

His best friend stood up, and Harry followed suit. Ron's mouth was drawn into a thin line, but his gaze now offered hope that bridges were being rebuilt. Harry nodded at the redhead and smiled. Ron nodded back, and then the youths headed down either side of the table towards the door.

* * *

Even once he had put plenty of distance between himself and the Great Hall, Harry's skin was still crawling with the mixture of glares and gawping he had suffered on the way out. It kept him silent for a long time, and it didn't help that he knew he was pushing his luck with Ron the longer he said nothing. His best friend had put out an olive branch, one that had prickles, since it didn't look like Ron was about to start their conversation any time in the near future, but it was an offer of truce none-the-less, and Harry didn't want to ruin it with his first breath.

Harry watched Ron out of the corner of his eye; the red-head's face was set in the same grimace it had been on the way out of the hall, and Harry wasn't sure what had finally swayed Ron, clearly provisionally, to his side. He hoped it wasn't just peer pressure. Ron's face was somewhere between someone needing a thumping and discomfort, and nervously, Harry wondered if both emotions were aimed at him. It wasn't much of a start, but Harry knew how much effort it had to have taken for his best friend to offer support, and so he finally gathered the courage to start talking.

"Thanks," he began with less shock than he had in the Great Hall.

Ron glanced at Harry: well, it was more of a glare for the first heartbeat, but then he settled and they came to a halt.

"Couldn't let that Slytherin git think he was winning," Ron answered gruffly, but Harry hoped he saw more in the answer than mere house rivalry.

Still unsure of where this conversation was going to lead, Harry took his time again as he searched for another stick to build his bridge. Ron wasn't looking at him properly, in fact, to Harry it felt more like his best friend was staring through him. Ron's gaze could be very penetrating when he was trying to put up a strong front, and given his size, he was also intimidating, but not normally to Harry: this time was different.

"Look, I'm sorry you found out the way you did," Harry eventually launched, dropping his gaze as he felt the embarrassment that his anger and concern had mainly blocked at the cottage. "I know it was a shock, and I didn't mean to make you feel betrayed."

There was silence for a moment, and cautiously, Harry glanced back at his friend: Ron's stare was now on the ground and his shoulders were hunched, but he did at last growl back, "Well, what did you expect I'd think?"

"Finding us like that, I 'spose it was only natural," Harry gave ground.

"Too bloody right," Ron took as much territory as Harry relinquished and then some more as his glare became thunderous.

Harry resisted taking a real step backwards, but he remained passive, and the explosion was only momentary; Ron looked away again, and huffed, but did not continue the attack. Harry took in a deep breath and carried on, "None of it was deliberate. I didn't set out to be with D-Malfoy."

"But you invited him to your house, and you lied to the rest of us about it," Ron accused, but with less volume than he had used before.

"I didn't lie, I just wasn't specific," Harry countered openly. "You were all for it when you thought I'd got a girl there."

"I wouldn't have cared if it had been a bloke, either," Ron huffed some more, but looked like he was trying to be logical, which was a plus for the red-head in any argument, "but it was Malfoy."

That admission was something, at least Ron wasn't scared of a homosexual best friend, but Harry was still facing the 'Malfoy-Weasley' feud. It didn't help Harry's thoughts that he knew Ron's caution over Malfoy had proven correct, but he couldn't shake the feeling inside that there was more than spite to Draco's actions, and Harry wanted to make Ron see that.

"I know it's difficult," Harry continued, searching for the right words to express how he was feeling.

"Difficult?" Ron questioned, his eyebrows raised and his eyes flashing. "At least you know now what kind of mistake you made!"

The 'told-you-so' tone in Ron's voice sent all the wrong messages to Harry's already battered ego, and he argued, "I didn't make a mistake. There's more -."

He would have continued, but Ron interrupted hotly, "Oh come on, Harry, you have to admit that you made a mess of this one."

"No," Harry objected, rather louder than he intended as his point wasn't even given a chance.

A scoffing laugh came out of Ron's mouth and there was more holier-than-thou accusations coming behind it, so Harry barrelled on, his tone hard as he tried to get through, "This is complicated! I don't need patronising."

He would have continued, but Ron's patience had run out.

"Then what do you need, Potter?!" his best friend demanded of Harry, who took a step rapidly backwards. "You need someone to tell you what's what, you're living in a dream world if you think Malfoy is worth any more than your hatred."

"No," Harry denied, and then louder, "No!"

This was not the conversation he wanted: he needed Ron to understand how he felt. Harry's own confusion over Draco's vindictiveness came out in anger as he defended, "This isn't some childish rivalry between families that should know better."

Attacking Ron's family pride was never a good idea, but Harry's temper didn't care. He was hurting and he wanted his best friend to know that. It took Ron a few moments to realise that he had been hit below the belt, but then all restraint evaporated as he derided, "You're soft in the head."

"Oh perfect, resort to petty insults," Harry threw back. "I need a friend, not judge, jury and executioner."

"Then you ought to act like you need one," Ron yelled, right into Harry's face.

The shout winded Harry more than he expected, and he didn't have anything else to fight with. Yet, Harry's temper was enough to mean he was not going to give ground, and so he glared back silently. It was Ron in the end who resolved the standoff: he turned on his heel and stormed away.

* * *

Harry watched Ron's back till it disappeared round the corner, and slowly it dawned on him what he had done: Ron had been trying, and too much defensive temper had ruined everything. His spirits spiralling down from pique into depression made the youth's body sag and he leant against the wall for the only support with which his own anger had left him.

"Bugger!" he swore quietly under his breath, and closed his eyes to try and forget for a moment.

The silence of the old school settled around him and listened to his lonely gloom. Harry shared more freely with the life in the ancient walls than he could with any human at that moment, and he pressed his back into the stonework that held him up. He kept his eyes closed and felt for his magic as Professor McGonagall had taught him, looking for the calm that came with the nightly meditations, and, in tandem, his mind reached out to the magic that ran through his surroundings.

Seventeen years couldn't really comprehend the many hundreds that had formed the rambling castle, but touching them brought a disassociation that helped ease any thoughts of alienation that Harry's present battles conjured. The castle accepted him, and his problems without judgement, and the young wizard had a funny feeling that something was listening to him. That feeling started tight in his chest, a flutter in his heart revealing the tension that surrounded his confused emotions over Draco Malfoy, but slowly, as the walls took his burden, the tightness receded. Harry didn't really understand it, but as he opened his eyes once more, he felt something else open for him somewhere inside the support of his surroundings and he was left with a certain feeling that, no matter what Malfoy could throw at him, no matter how bad the rumours became, he had a refuge.

Harry stared at the plain stone wall opposite him for a few moments, trying to return to reality and wondering what had just happened. However, the coldness of the world was not given a chance to re-establish itself around him, because his attention was drawn by a gentle voice, "Harry."

The youth couldn't help it, after the peace of the meditation, any sound was sharp, and he jumped. Yet, his heart settled quickly, and he turned to face Albus Dumbledore, stood a few feet away. Harry had no idea when the old man had approached, or how he had done so without alerting his combat-trained senses, but he accepted the ancient wizard's presence as he had done the building's. Harry had never noticed before, but now it was clear as day as he realised that there was a connection between Hogwarts and its keeper: he didn't try to decipher the nature of that link, he merely acknowledged it in his thoughts, and walked up to his mentor.

"Professor," he greeted, and a sigh slipped out after the word.

"I fear that I share your sentiment, My Boy," the headmaster picked up on the admission of disquiet.

"I'm sorry, Sir," Harry confessed, "I tried to get Malfoy to stop spreading rumours, but I just made it worse. Couldn't you get Professor Snape to talk to him?"

"The Professor has informed me that he is having difficulty communicating with Draco," Dumbledore answered, and, looking straight ahead, led Harry into a slow walk down the corridor.

"Snape can't even talk to him?" Harry repeated, unable to believe out of hand the failure of the close bond that everyone knew existed between the Prince of Slytherin and his head of house.

"No, he cannot. It appears that there is much troubling Draco."

"That's what I thought," Harry agreed, glad that he and his mentor concurred.

There was silence for a moment; as he glanced sideways, Harry could see something in Dumbledore's face, and he just waited for it to be voiced. After only a few paces, it felt odd to be stopping again, but Harry turned to look fully at his guardian as the old man brought them to a halt once more. His eyes were sad as Albus Dumbledore looked directly at Harry, and the youth prepared himself.

"I fear that the situation may darken before any light is forthcoming," the ancient wizard warned, sympathy in his eyes.

Yet, the concern did not depress Harry further, instead the sharing of a confidence made him feel stronger, and with a bolstered ego, Harry assured, "I'll be alright."

"You will need your friends, and be aware that you may speak with any member of staff, day or night," the headmaster offered earnestly, and laid a hand on Harry's shoulder.

The youth looked up at the wise man and felt very young: he didn't know what was coming, but Malfoy was going to share out his troubles tenfold, he was sure, and the support being offered he accepted gratefully with, "Thank you, Sir."

* * *

The offer of support from Dumbledore and also his honesty gave Harry more idea of how Malfoy's vindictiveness was being viewed from outside its influence, and although the thought of hostilities escalating still further gave him cause for concern, it's acknowledgement also made him feel better. His headmaster had shown no disapproval this time, just concern, and it appeared he had the same picture of the situation as Harry: Malfoy was hurting. That supposition alone stopped Harry from hating his ex-lover, he knew hurt, and the youth discovered a philosophical side as he meandered his way back to the common room. He felt safe inside his home from home, and alone, with only the walls for company, he tried to look at the uncomfortable situation from the perspective that Dumbledore had given him.

The biggest question in his mind was 'why?': why was Malfoy so angry and defensive? It was not as if Lucius Malfoy had never existed before New Year, but his escape was bothering his son for reasons known only to that child. The whole situation just confused Harry: he only had so much Slytherin in him, and understanding the depth of Draco's motives was pushing that part of his personality to its limits. He didn't really want to start second guessing his opponent, he wasn't good at it, and so far his attempts to intercede had incited only greater animosity. By the time he had reached the tower, Harry had come to the conclusion that if Draco Malfoy's devious brain had found some way of blaming him for all his woes and using him as whipping boy, the best way to deal with the situation was to ride out the vengeance quietly and try to keep away from Malfoy as much as possible.

However, his conclusion went to the back of his mind when he entered the common room, and a more immediate problem glowered at him from one of the sofas. Albus Dumbledore's warning of the importance of his friends had not passed Harry by, and his reaction to Ron's attempt at a truce seemed petty and foolish. It was time to bury the hatchet, and if he had to eat humble pie to do it, so be it. Harry took a deep breath and walked over to Ron, which also meant he was walking up to most of the seventh year, who were relaxing in the after-glow of a good breakfast.

"Good walk?" Lavender asked, less than innocently as he finished his approach, and her eyes darted between Harry and Ron: the rest of the year were doing the same, except for Hermione, who was glaring directly at him with only a little less enthusiasm than Ron.

"Most of it," he answered truthfully.

His tone, quiet and cowed went a way to softening Hermione's stare, but his best friend was unmoved if the pink appearing in his face was anything to go by, so Harry focused on Ron.

"Look," he began slowly, checking for a reaction and knowing that he was walking on eggshells: nothing, just a hard stare, so he pressed on, "I'm sorry I yelled, I was being an idiot."

"Yes you were," Ron huffed back, and stood up, his arms folding across his chest as he did so.

The snit, Harry could have taken, but he underestimated his own ability to accept the aggressive body language as his best friend looked down at him from his extra inches in height. The move was designed to intimidate, and Harry's defences kicked in. He had moved a step closer to show the intimidation hadn't worked before he'd thought about it, and he heard his mouth work before the sensible part of his brain could kick in as he accused, "I'm trying to say sorry, can't you stop being a git about it for one minute?"

Ron's eyes narrowed and his scowl deepened. The pink patches in his cheeks darkened to red, and he closed the final few centimetres between them, pushing his chest into Harry's and snarling into his face, "Sometime soon you are going to have to learn who your friends are, Potter."

"With friends like you, who needs enemies," Harry growled back as his rational brain lost out completely to his temper.

"Stop it!" Hermione halted whatever was about to come out of her boyfriend's mouth as she stood and pulled him out of the confrontation.

Ron took a step back at the unexpected pull, and the young woman maintained a hold on him as he fell in next to her. Just the physical contact was too much for Harry: he saw sides being drawn, and by her touch, and the angry look in her eyes, Hermione placed herself firmly beside her boyfriend. He had nothing to say to that, and he didn't want to see anyone else's opinion, so, without another word, the youth turned and went back to the path to his dorm on which he had been travelling when he had made his apologetic diversion.  
  



	14. Friendship and Confidences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Harry make plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [beren_writes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/beren/pseuds/beren), my excellent beta reader

By evening, Harry still hadn't spoken a word to any of his classmates. A few minutes after reaching the dorm that morning, he had calmed down and concluded that if he had been an idiot the first time, he had been doubly so the second, but he had not managed to forgive Ron for goading him into another fight, so, instead, he had gone for another, longer walk out in the grounds and had ended up staying out all day, brooding. A trip to the kitchens and a word with Dobby had found his growling stomach something to fill it when he had finally left the gloom of twilight for the flames of the castle, and so he had found himself a corner in the common room and was engrossed in his homework by the time anyone came back from supper.

After the display that morning, everyone left Harry alone with his scowl and his work, and he was very happy with that arrangement, which meant he could concentrate on his charms essay and ignore the rest of the world. Yet, there was someone watching him whom he couldn't ignore forever, and Harry made the mistake of rubbing his eyes and then focusing out on the room as he laid down his quill. He had felt Hermione's gaze on him since she had come in alone from her Head Girl duties, but he had forced himself to avoid thinking about the worried expression he had caught out of the corner of his eye. Yet, something deeper inside his emotions was stronger than Harry's peevishness and his eyesight, as it came out of close focus, came to rest on his friend. His stare stayed on Hermione only a moment before his sulk caught up and he found an unemotional piece of wall to stare at, but that second was enough to make up his friend's mind.

Harry knew Hermione stood up and began to cross the room, but he returned to look at his scribbled essay rather than acknowledging her movement. It wasn't until she sat down next to him that he was forced into looking again, and, to his surprise, she was smiling at him rather sadly. Harry also was not expecting what came out of her mouth as she told him, "You acted like a prize prat today."

Anybody else would have received an earful for such a direct reproach, but the look in Hermione's eyes was so honest and worried that Harry really didn't know what to say.

"So did Ron, and I told him so too," his companion carried on, and left Harry even more bemused at her even-handed condemnation. "He's giving me the silent treatment at the moment, are you going to do the same?"

Harry opened his mouth to try and find something to say, but his thoughts failed him and so he just shook his head. Hermione's smile curled a little more at one corner and she glanced down at the mess of paper that equalled Harry's homework.

"Have you finished?"

"Yes," Harry managed this time.

"Then lets find somewhere where there aren't a dozen ears listening in," Hermione finished, and stood up once more.

Harry left his work where it was, and, not feeling at all sure of himself, let his companion lead the way out of the common room.

* * *

Harry didn't notice until they reached a quiet place, but, whether by luck or judgement Hermione had led them back at the same spot they had chosen for their last private conversation: well he was almost sure it was the same spot, but at Hogwarts, without checking the details, you could never be positive about your location. Yet, he looked out of a very similar window to the one which had allowed him contemplation before, and examined the icicles which were hanging from the top sill. Hermione had blind-sided him with her matter-of-fact approach, although, as he thought about it, the youth decided he should have expected it from his level-headed companion. Yet, now he was stood beside her in the empty corridor, he didn't know what to say: unhappily he wondered if the rest of his school career was going to be spent working his way through similar awkward pauses. If Malfoy had anything to do with it, he considered it a distinct possibility.

This time, it was Hermione who had instigated the meeting, and he hoped it would mean she had something to say first. The observation that came from his second closest friend was also something Harry should have expected, but, as with everything that term, it surprised him as the young woman told him, "You know each other too well."

Harry turned and looked at the same sad smile he had been given in the common room, still not sure what to say, and his companion continued at his disquiet, "You and Ron, I mean, you know how to push each other's buttons without even thinking about it."

"There wasn't much thinking going on at all," Harry admitted with a shrug, "I should have known Ron'd never have calmed down that quickly, but I wanted to get it out of the way."

"Maybe not yelling at him in the first place would have been better?" Hermione offered, and her eyebrows raised just like Professor McGonagall's did when she was delivering sound, but annoying advice.

"But he was being so holier than thou about it all," Harry snarked, and went back to staring out of the window as he realised that still his temper was not that even.

"I know, he told me what you said," his companion revealed with a calm that just annoyed Harry further.

Yet, he hung on to his temper, Dumbledore's advice and the memory of what his anger could do stopping him from driving away another friend.

"When I said you both behaved like idiots, I wasn't just talking about the stand up fight you entertained the common room with," Hermione did not back off from the telling off she was delivering. "You need to start listening to what each other are saying, not what you think is being said. Harry, you know how long the Weasleys and the Malfoys have been on opposite sides, so can't you give Ron a bit of leeway, he was trying to understand."

"I know," Harry sighed, and turned round again. "I suppose I just wanted Ron all the way on my side, and I got defensive when he wasn't."

Hermione patted his arm, but said nothing. She still looked sad, and Harry didn't like the guilt that generated inside, but he was still not sure how to handle the conversation.

"I could try again," he suggested.

However, his friend's face went from sad to horrified very quickly and she shook her head violently as she informed him, "Not a good idea. Leave Ron to me for the next few days."

"But he's mad at you as well," Harry pointed out, unable to help the slight annoyance as Hermione protected him from himself.

Hermione was just full of surprises that evening, and when she smiled again, she confused Harry. He'd seen a similar grin during their previous chat, when she had thrown around the innuendo about Malfoy, but he couldn't see why it had suddenly appeared again. Things became clearer when the young woman enlightened him with, "Yes, Harry, but I have persuasive means at my disposal that you don't."

Harry went red as he realised that he had interpreted her smile correctly; Hermione seemed undaunted by his discomfort and continued knowingly, "The silent treatment will be gone by the end of the evening."

Despite his embarrassment, the confidence in his friend eased Harry's tongue and he asked, "Are we really that easy to manipulate?"

"Sometimes," the girl laughed and added with a wink, "Ron especially, ever since he got over the 'we're just friends' thing."

"That took you long enough," Harry decided to have a little dig of his own.

"But we rapidly made up for lost time after that."

Hermione had sounded so matter of fact that it took both companions a moment to realise what she had said, and then Harry saw her cheeks redden; the young woman clearly did not know about the manly chats which had made Harry aware of how far she and Ron had progressed in their relationship, and the youth was not about to give away that he knew, so they just looked at each other, teetering on the edge of discomfort for a couple of seconds. Yet, having his own private life spread around the school had very quickly thickened Harry's skin and under the newness of Hermione's disclosure, he liked the ease and companionship her admission gave him, and he didn't want it to go away.

"Ron's completely besotted with you," he chose to be a little more serious about things, and to his relief, he saw the tension settle out of his friend's shoulders.

Hermione smiled again, but to herself this time, and she looked away, her thoughts inward, on a memory Harry guessed. Yet, her gaze came back, and the embarrassment was gone. Harry had the feeling that he had just crossed a threshold, but to what he was not so sure.

"I thought we knew each other too well to begin with," the confidence was passed from friend to friend: "we were always second guessing each other, but we got the hang of it and when we did..."

Harry laughed as Hermione rolled her eyes, and his amusement goaded an addition to her statement, "Ron has wandering hands, not that I mind most of the time, but he doesn't always know when to turn it off. I'm Head Girl, I have certain standards to maintain."

"The burden of authority!" Harry chided, quite in sympathy with Ron as he thought about the many times in class he had wanted to just reach out and touch Malfoy. The thought was supposed to have stayed in his head, but the atmosphere made him freer than he intended and he spoke before his brain caught up, "I found potion ingredients' lists helped."

The worry that he'd been too honest hit Harry as he finished the sentence, and he went rapidly hot and cold. However, Hermione did not notice as she giggled behind a hand and observed, "I'll have to mention that."

"Already did," Harry shrugged away his concerns as the ease held sway and was given a wide-eyed, open-mouthed expression that was trying to look shocked, but was still grinning round the edges. "What did you think five guys talk about after the lights go out? Tell me you don't discuss things with your dorm mates."

Hermione shut her mouth, and the redness was back in her cheeks, but only a light touch, and Harry thought it might be more to do with what she was thinking than what he had said.

"Ginny mostly, actually," the girl corrected, her tone slightly hesitant.

"Full of good advice, isn't she?" Harry championed, his confidence growing.

"How do you think I managed to get past Ron's 'just friends' idea in the first place?!" Hermione nodded forcefully.

"You made the first move?" Harry clarified (Ron had not exactly said otherwise, but he had not admitted it either).

"Of course," his friend returned, her eyes narrowing as she asked, "What has Ron been saying?"

"Nothing," Harry defended their absent comrade quickly, but then added, "exactly nothing about that actually. I think we just assumed he'd finally approached you."

"Hmm," Hermione looked like she might be having words with her boyfriend after this meeting was finished.

"He didn't lie," male sided with male in the face of female indignance. "He just didn't say."

"Male ego!" Hermione chided, but did not look too serious about it, and then she smiled in a way that made Harry nervous as she asked, "How does that work when there's two of you? Which one of you made the first move?"

Harry took a deep breath and managed thinly, "That's complicated."

His companion crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows again, making it very clear that she wasn't giving up her question. A few hours ago, Harry would have run a mile at such an enquiry, even from his trusted ally, but the shifting sands of his private life meant that he used the pause to think rather than panic.

"Malfoy did a lot of baiting, so he made the first moves," Harry sighed, and looked at the floor for a moment as he relabelled the heartless pursuance yet again for public consumption, "but it wasn't until I replied that anything went anywhere."

"Things happened really fast for you, didn't they?" Hermione was serious now and she was looking into his face when he glanced back at her: Harry knew she'd seen the left-over anxiety from the initial encounters.

"We were both pretty aggressive about it," the youth nodded, finding the trusting discourse strange, but comforting. "We didn't even like each other."

This time Hermione looked truly shocked, and Harry shut up as he again worried about having said too much. Yet the silence only lasted a few moments and then his friend surprised Harry again as she observed, "But you do now, don't you?"

"I thought so," he admitted quietly. "Malfoy can be a real bastard, but he can also be fun to be with."

"Seems he's going for being the bastard full time now," Hermione commiserated.

"He's in pain."

"Don't make excuses for him!" his companion objected and her eyes flashed. "What he is doing is reprehensible, pain or no pain."

"But I have to find out why," Harry tried to explain himself. "You would want to know if it was Ron."

"Yes, but I lo-" Hermione stopped mid word, her mouth carried on working soundlessly for a few staggered moments and then she gabbled almost desperately, "You can't love Malfoy!"

Harry shook his head, more to calm his friend than to really answer the question, but he did add, "I'm worried about him though."

Hermione didn't comment further on the admission, but her lips were drawn into a line for a long moment as she examined something in Harry's face. Harry didn't know what she was looking for, and he was given no hints, even when she finally turned to the window, his companion did not reveal if she had found what she sought.

"What's the matter?" he prompted, leaning on the windowsill and trying to make something out of Hermione's profile.

"How did you know?" the girl asked, and her honesty once again trapped Harry into listening. "How did you know you wanted to sleep with Draco."

Harry's jaw went slack as the question beat the rest of their conversation, hands down. Hermione had gone from the controller of the talk to a nervous follower with her unsure enquiry and the responsibility of his answer settled on Harry's shoulders. He had known from their conversations last term that Ron had been considering going further than petting with Hermione, but he had never considered being involved in that decision, let alone advising his female friend about it.

"I'm not a good person to be asking," Harry eventually began tentatively, half hoping that Hermione was going to back off from this avenue of discussion.

However, the look that he was given back told Harry that his friend was committed to her question now that she had asked it. Unable to fob off Hermione, Harry took a deep breath, which turned into more of a gasp at the end and then he tried again, "It wasn't planned, well not by me, at least, but when it happened, it felt," he paused, searching for the right words, but he couldn't find any to express the conflict of pleasure and disgust which had made his heart beat fast enough to let events over take his sensible brain, "really good," Harry finished lamely, and he saw the let down in his companion's face before she turned away to the window again.

"I'm sorry," Harry had to continue, try to explain himself. "I don't think there's a magic word, or a right moment exactly, well there wasn't for me. I told you I wasn't the right person to ask. With Draco and me, it was all about the sex, nothing came before, except hate. We're nothing like you and Ron. You love each other; I can see it every time you look at, or talk about each other, you're so in love its just a natural part of you."

Hermione seemed a little startled by the rush of words, and to tell the truth, so was Harry. He hadn't thought about what he was going to say, it had just come out, half confession, half admiration, and he ended up just staring at his friend as her rounded eyes looked back at him.

"You really see that?" she asked, and her eyes were damp round the edges.

Harry nodded, he didn't need to add anything else. Yet even his silent affirmation brought something to the sparkle in Hermione's eyes, and it took him a moment to realise what it was: confidence. At that moment, Harry was very unsure, not about what he had said, but what it had meant to his friend. He had made enough of a mess of his own life, and he did not want to be responsible for another's decisions.

"What's the matter?" Hermione saw his unease.

"You're not going to just run off and jump into bed with Ron now, are you?" Harry had to ask, even though the question sounded absurd once he had asked it.

Hermione's eyebrows hit her hairline, but then, to Harry's relief, she chuckled.

"No," she offered with a little playful derision in her tone. "Remember, I'm a woman, I don't let my libido rule my life."

"You did say that you talk a lot with Ginny, didn't you?" Harry teased (they both knew that where boys were concerned, Ginny made up for any coyness in the rest of her sex).

"She grew up with six brothers," Hermione scoffed her defence.

The pair laughed at Ginny's expense for a few seconds, but light-hearted banter was not the aim of their conversation, and so they settled into silence again.

"Are you going to be alright?" Hermione eventually broke the still, and she reached out to Harry as she did so, stroking his arm.

Harry nodded and returned to the confusion he was feeling about Malfoy as he replied, "I'll bide my time, see if I can work out what is making Draco such a bastard."

At that, his friend looked like she might make a comment, but she just pursed her lips and squeezed his wrist instead.  
  



	15. A Step Towards Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry begins to understand his freehand magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [beren_writes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/beren/pseuds/beren), my excellent beta reader

Harry and Hermione parted soon after Harry's decision, the Head Girl going off to meet with Dumbledore, while Harry returned to the common room, collected up his things and then joined Neville and Dean in a game of exploding snap. Monday therefore dawned with Harry no closer to making up with Ron, nor with any plan on how to discover anything about Draco. He dreamed his way through Charms, preferring wild planning on how to turn detective where Draco was concerned to the lightening in a bottle charm that Flitwick claimed was very useful in amateur dramatics. Harry's distraction led to some less innocent fantasies and his lightening proved a little too successful when his magic almost responded to his daydream: he smashed the bottle and singed the blackboard, barely missing the professor's already damaged beard. After that, Harry had paid attention to the class and to himself, taking note of every feeling, emotional or physical that ran through his body and whether he felt the slightest hint of his magic.

The personal examination made Harry tense and bad company; even Neville eventually gave up trying to be pleasant and restricted his communications to classroom instructions. Harry remained tense through lunch, eating little and leaving the table early on a thin excuse of unfinished homework. By the time he arrived at Professor McGonagall's study for his private tuition, the Freehand was wound like a top, and he threw himself down in the chair opposite his head of house. She frowned.

"Are you alright, Harry?" his companion enquired directly.

"I've been trying to do as you asked and work out what triggers my magic, keeping an eye on myself," Harry sighed.

"And have you learnt anything?" his teacher continued her questioning while passing a cup of tea into Harry's hands.

Harry took a sip and made an effort to loosen the knots between his shoulders. There was nothing magical about the brew he was drinking, but its psychological effects helped a little, and, letting himself go a little more, the youth answered slowly, "Not a lot, except that I shouldn't daydream in Charms."

Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow at the admission, but did not make comment, instead, she continued positively with, "And how is the meditation going?"

"I feel great afterwards," Harry returned over the brim of his cup, "but I still don't remember much, except sometimes I'm tingling like I've been hit with a spell."

"That is good progress," his tutor returned sincerely, sipping her own tea before she continued, "It will take a while for you to be able to make sense of your magic in a passive state, but I believe it will come."

The pupil took a little succour from his teacher's words, knowing they were honest, but the fear of what he could do was still sitting in the pit of his stomach, making him feel sick if he thought about it too much. Harry didn't think he was showing any of that fear, he merely stared at the ripples on the surface of his tea for a while. However, when he glanced up, he discovered he was being watched by a very serious expression. His heart leapt into his throat, but he had nothing to say, so he waited until Professor McGonagall spoke. She said, "Harry, you wish to advance more quickly, don't you?"

Harry nodded, not sure if he was about to receive a cautionary tale. However, his companion pursed her lips and looked like she was trying to make a decision.

"Harry, I have been considering several techniques that we may use to help you make conscious contact with your magic, but one may answer your concerns more quickly than the others."

From the way he was being regarded, Harry made an instant supposition, and he worded it with, "It's risky, isn't it?"

McGonagall let out a short little breath, not quite a sigh, and she nodded, answering, "There are some risks attached to it, yes, but we should be able to master any occurrences between us."

Harry thought it would be rather more of the generation of occurrences on his side and the mastery would all be down to his teacher. Yet he knew the down-to-earth woman would not have suggested anything that carried too much risk, so he asked, "What do you suggest?"

The professor put down her cup and faced Harry properly before she continued, "I propose to draw your magic to the surface very gradually to allow you to sense the changes that it brings."

"And the risks," Harry pressed, his fear making him wary.

"This technique will require intense concentration and good communication on both our parts," McGonagall warned. "If I draw on your magic too quickly, or you fail to control it, a similar occurrence to that which you described between yourself and Professor Dumbledore may arise."

Harry swallowed as the guilt at what he had done surfaced once more: he looked away, into the fire.

"You will not do it deliberately," his companion spoke in a softer voice, and drew his gaze back to her, "I will inform you of all I am doing, and if anything untoward occurs, I am perfectly capable of blocking your magic."

The professor did not smile, but she did fix Harry with her surety, so he chose to take the bull by the horns and nodded. McGonagall settled back into her seat a moment, seemingly satisfied with the decision and then she told Harry, "Sit back and relax as you have done before for meditation."

Harry did as he was told, put down his cup, closed his eyes and immediately cleared his mind as he had been practising every night. It was difficult not to use the Occlumency training to force the thoughts away, there were so many running around in his head, but this was not about building barriers and it had to be done through a different kind of control. Even so, the previous training made him aware of his mind, and gradually his thoughts stilled; in tandem, he felt his body sink into the chair cushions.

"Are you ready?" his companion asked once Harry was sure he must have looked like a sack of potatoes crumpled in the chair his muscles were so loose.

"Yes," he replied smoothly.

"Alright, I will begin by casting some barrier spells, they will be surrounding us, so you may sense them," his teacher warned.

Harry steadied himself as he did indeed feel the wards go up: his skin tingled and the stirring in his belly rose a little. However, all settled momentarily and Harry sunk back into the stillness of meditation. He didn't really notice his magic sink into the background once more, not until it hiccupped.

"Now I am going to cast a spell at you, Harry. It may restrict your breathing a little, but do not worry, it is merely your body reacting to the initial draw," Professor McGonagall told him and Harry reacted before the magic had even been cast: his stomach knotted at the prospect of an external influence, Aleyn de la Folle sliced into his thoughts, and Harry's power sprung to his defence.

"No!" he snarled to himself as he felt his reactions running away, and he grabbed onto the surge of magic for all he was worth.

Harry grabbed hold of the arms of his chair, opened his eyes and glared at where he felt magic meet magic: in between himself and his tutor spell met raw magic, sparking and fitting in the small space. McGonagall was also watching the same battle, and unlike Harry, whose heart was racing, she looked calm, almost Dumbledore-like as she observed the phenomenon.

"I believe we have encountered our first untoward occurrence," she understated, and continued matter-of-factly, "Now, Harry, try to relax once more and allow my spell to move towards you."

"I don't know if I can," Harry gasped, the effort involved in holding the attack from doing more damage incalculable as far as he was concerned.

"You are perfectly capable of controlling yourself, Mr Potter," Professor McGonagall replied sternly. "Have some confidence in yourself and try."

The telling-off irked the youth: didn't McGonagall know how hard he was working to avert disaster? Yet it also brought out the challenge in him, and he rose to meet it. He shoved his back into the cushions, not exactly relaxing, but near enough as far as he was concerned, and then Harry focused on the fight in front of him. Testily he hauled at his magic, gritting his teeth and calling it to himself. It didn't budge, and he grunted with the extra effort.

"A little more persuasion, a little less force, Harry," his tutor advised.

Harry closed his eyes: he didn't need to see his magic running amuck, he could feel it as the hairs all over his body stood on end.

"Your magic is no stronger than your will, Harry," McGonagall told him smoothly.

Harry would have denied that, since it felt like his insides were pulling apart as he tried to hold back the power he had sent out. The iron-clad stubborn part of the Freehand was clamped around his instincts, a prison that moved neither out from or back to himself, and it hurt. The prickling of his skin grew and Harry panted his discomfort, his nails scraping on the wood of the chair arms.

"Harry, you are fighting yourself," his companion sounded absurdly calm.

Harry grunted and returned to glaring at the world through barely open eyes. Whomever he was fighting, it wasn't pleasant and was becoming rapidly more dangerous.

"Relax, Harry," the professor urged, still without a hint of concern, "trust yourself."

However, despite all his tutor's words, Harry did not trust himself and he could not let go. It was really beginning to hurt and he let out a strangled sigh before panting away the pain. He had experienced worse, and it was more the danger in which he was placing Professor McGonagall that bothered Harry. Yet his teacher revealed more concern for him.

"Alright Harry," she announced, a note of anxiety in her voice, "I am slowly going to withdraw my spell."

A sense of failure damped everything in Harry, and as the spell was lifted he sank into his chair and his magic went flat. The removal was a relief, but also dented his pride and he found himself thinking of Neville again.

"I am sorry, Harry," his companion drew him out of the thought of his inept friend and he glanced up at the earnest woman. "Given your recent trauma, I should have expected such resistance on your part. We shall try something gentler."

"No, please," Harry surprised himself as he sat forward and begged. "Can we try again?"

Professor McGonagall was equally surprised by the request and Harry sat rapidly back in his chair again, staring directly at her and trying to work out why his stubborn streak had come out now. It was Neville, his friend who never gave up, despite failure after failure: inspiration.

"I won't let it out this time," Harry decided, "not now I know the spell's coming."

For a moment, Harry thought his tutor was going to say no, her lips were pursed and she was clearly concerned by his choice, but in the end it remained his decision, and so she nodded.

"As you wish, Harry," McGonagall agreed, lifting her wand once more. "Tell me when you are ready."

Harry sunk as far back in his chair as he could and tried to relax; it wasn't easy, his magic was still churning from the confrontation, but with a few deep breaths and using his stubborn streak, he gradually felt his instincts settling to manageable proportions. Taking one last long breath, Harry closed his eyes and tried to listen within. He didn't have much contact with the subtler presence of his magic, only when it was doing flip flops in his stomach did he really recognise it, but he felt for it and decided that it was more or less still. Opening his eyes once more, he nodded to his teacher.

Professor McGonagall was slow and deliberate in her movements as she lifted her wand and Harry focused on its tip, telling himself that he trusted this person over and over again. He still tensed when his companion finally cast, but he battened down on any further reaction as his world shifted into slow motion. His tutor had made the spell visible and a translucent blanket of light spread out from the end of McGonagall's wand straight towards Harry. He gasped as the magic actually touched him this time, and his chest did indeed tighten. It took a large effort not to retaliate, but Harry hung on to the fear in his belly and let the external magic sink into him.

In a second or so, the heaviness on his lungs eased and Harry relaxed a little, shivering as the spell ran through his body, but becoming quickly accustomed to its presence. The familiar rushing sensation of his power did not surface and, not a little relieved, Harry sighed.

"Well done, Harry," his teacher praised, smiling, and then challenged, "Close your eyes and try to relax a little more."

Harry was reluctant to let go of the clamp he had on his instincts by relaxing further, but he knew that they weren't going to get far if he didn't, so he did as he was told. He let the tension slip away bit by bit, first his shoulders, then his torso, then his legs and arms and finally even his fingers and toes. The spell was everywhere by the time he had accepted it completely, and by closing his eyes, Harry signalled his readiness for whatever the professor had in store.

"Now, Harry," his companion continued in her Scots burr, "I am going to attract your magic with the spell. You may sense something, if you do, tell me."

Nothing: Harry felt absolutely nothing change and after a couple of seconds he opened one eye a little to see if McGonagall had done anything. There was equally nothing to see, even the golden light had gone, but his teacher was still holding out her wand and frowned at him as he threatened his concentration. Quickly, Harry closed his eye once more and focused inward.

"Alright, since you have not reacted, I will begin to withdraw the spell, this should gradually bring your magic to the surface. Examine yourself, how your body is feeling, how your magic is working and also what you are thinking. Describe it to me."

Harry had no idea what to expect: there was a void of experience between nothing and full-on unstoppable magic as far as he was concerned. In fact, the first change was so slight that Harry wondered if it was just wishful thinking; still, he drew in a sharp breath as something shifted deep down inside and McGonagall noticed.

"What is it, Harry?" she prompted.

"I don't know," he replied truthfully, trying to search for what had just happened. "I think I felt my magic."

"I will draw a little more, tell me if it happens again," Harry was glad that his teacher understood his confusion.

This time Harry felt the pull, the first suggestion of the power inside. It was faint, a mere echo of the rushing that normally overtook him all too quickly, but definitely his Freehand magic.

"I feel it!" he announced sharply, not stopping a grin playing over his features.

"Good, Harry, good, but try to stay calm," Professor McGonagall returned. "What do you feel?"

Now that was a much more difficult question and Harry concentrated on the answer.

"It's like the rushing when I'm casting, only a long way away," he decided.

"And how does it make you feel and think?"

For a moment, the prompt this time didn't make much sense, since Harry wasn't aware that the contact was having any affect on him, but then he listened to himself more closely.

"My fingers are itching," the Freehand overstated: it wasn't so much an itch as the prediction of an itch and he found himself thinking about the long hours of lessons where he had stuffed his hands into his arm pits to stop himself from casting.

The familiar feeling worried him and he worded his concern with, "I've felt it before in class. It's like I always want to cast."

"That may indeed be so, Harry," Professor McGonagall replied sounding in no way perturbed. "We are at very low levels at the moment, it may merely be your magic reacting to mine, do not be alarmed. Now, a little more."

The precursory knowledge became more definite and Harry had to resist the habit of sliding his fingers under his arms, instead, he rubbed the tips over the wooden chair arms and tried to relax, examining the would-be itch more carefully.

"It's getting stronger," he informed his companion, "but I can't really feel it yet, I just know."

"Mark it, Harry, so you may learn to recognise it again."

Harry nodded his consent, but he was far more interested in the 'almost tingle' that told him the wonderful feeling of arcing magic was not far behind it if he wanted it. That was an odd thought, but Harry noted that he felt confident and he settled further into his chair.

"I feel in control," he vocalised the idea, "I know I can cast if I want to, but I can stop it as well."

"Promising," his tutor replied noncommittally and added, "A little more still, Harry."

Almost became actual and Harry rubbed his fingers into the palms of his hands. There was still no rush of magic, just a subtle urge to form a spell, a warmth in his hands and a tingle that began to spread up his arms.

"It's real now," Harry described the slightly distracting itch and shifted in his chair as the hairs on his arms stood up in response to the growing tingle. "I really need to cast."

"Hold on to it," McGonagall instructed. "You do not have to do anything you do not wish to."

Harry didn't quite believe the assurance: his teacher could not feel what he was feeling, but he tried to hang on to the want. Harry had never been addicted to anything in his life stronger than chocolate, but the sense of magic that was making itself known held far more attractive qualities than sweets. Still, the Freehand was not worried by the sensations, he was enjoying them. This was magic on the cusp of casting, not the raging torrent of raw power that could be so dangerous.

Things changed in a split second.

Another pull on his magic and all sense of control left Harry: the rushing began alarmingly quickly and he tensed in response. In that moment he knew it was cast or release raw magic, and Harry grappled onto the first spell he could remember. He opened his eyes, held out his hands in front of him and gabbled, "Accio," and then realised he didn't know what to summon. The first thing he saw as he desperately searched for a non-breakable item to call to him was a large log which was sat next to the fire. "Log!" he finished, and the item flew rapidly out of the hearth. However, Harry had forgotten the barrier spells Professor McGonagall had mentioned and the log bounced off them with some force and smashed back into the fireplace. Soot and ash spurted into the air, covering everything in the vicinity that wasn't behind the invisible shield, including books and papers that were resting on a table beside his teacher's chair.

"Sorry," Harry mumbled, regarding the mess warily and having to gather the courage to meet his tutor's eyeline.

However, when he did look at her, the expression of consternation on her face was so unusual that Harry couldn't help it, he laughed. Instantly, he slapped a hand over his mouth and tried to maintain some humility in the face of another disaster, but the raise of eyebrow he was sent in response to his outburst just added to the moment. It was such a relief to have done no more than make a mess that Harry let the funny side hold sway and sniggered behind his hand. McGonagall dropped her shields and instantly began waving her hand as soot wafted between them.

"I'm sorry," Harry repeated and explained, "I had to cast or I'd have been dangerous."

Coughing lightly, she commented, "A partial success, well done Harry, you channelled your magic."

Harry grinned.

"Now, what does this tell you about your abilities?" his teacher asked and made Harry consider what he had done.

"Um," he replied, not quite sure, and so he fell back on describing what he had felt, "It was okay one moment and the next, wham!"

"Did you have any sense the 'wham' was coming?" McGonagall prompted, her tutor's patience in her eyes.

"Yes, the itch grew every time you called my magic," Harry nodded enthusiastically. However, then his spirits dampened a little as he admitted, "But I get that feeling a lot, especially in class."

"Do not worry, Harry, this is merely the beginning," his teacher reassured. "We are establishing a way for you to be aware of your magic, and you may well be sensitive to it in many situations, especially ones close to other castings. Casting each time you feel your magic becoming a risk would not be advisable as a long term solution, it will be tiring and wasteful. However, as an interim solution in emergencies, it will be useful. The next step is to use the recognition to enable you to control your reactions. You have just demonstrated that you can divert the power into a mundane spell, and the rest will come with time and practice."

"So what's next?" Harry asked cautiously.

"We try again, Mr Potter, we try again."  
  



	16. Advances And Retreat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Malfoy's viciousness escalates, Harry finds his need answered by new friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [beren_writes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/beren/pseuds/beren), my excellent beta reader

Harry's head was spinning and, as predicted by his tutor, he was indeed very tired by the end of the lesson. He had cast at least a dozen different spells in myriad different ways as the potential in his magic had reached critical, and despite his best efforts, he had been able to prevent none of it. Professor McGonagall was, however, more hopeful and had begun encouraging him to draw his own magic out rather than using the attraction spell. The result had been the same, slow build and sudden overload, but from her careful monitoring, the experienced witch had told Harry that he was maintaining control for longer each time. Harry had left the training session with a set of exercises to perform each night, finishing with meditation; the Freehand put those instructions into action that evening.

Harry sat cross-legged on his bed behind his blockaded curtains and glanced down at the instructions he had scribbled for himself. He was trying to be calm, but shields or no shields, he was worried about what he might do if his magic tipped over the threshold that he could not control. Still, the more or less successful lesson had bolstered his hopes of a solution, and he had already made sure his wards were in place, twice, so there was nothing left but to get on with the practice.

Harry closed his eyes, and then opened them again rapidly. He had been trying to think about his magic, but the image in front of his mind's eye had surprised him: Malfoy. What's more, the image was of Malfoy naked and Harry's body took notice. Sharing all his academic lessons with Draco meant that Harry could not very well forget about him, but his thoughts had lately been focused on his ex-boyfriend's motives rather than his physique. However, Harry had hormones, and in the quiet moment, all the arcing of magic he was now performing daily decided to let him know that he was missing the outlet for those hormones that his lover had provided. There was nothing in the books about Freehands and sex, well not the ones that the library provided, anyway, but thanks to Aleyn and Draco's influences, Harry more than associated his reactions to physical gratification.

Harry drew in an unsteady breath as a stab of arousal flowed out from his groin as the image stuck with him. Occlumency would have ridded him of the nice mental picture, but in his training state he felt his magic respond to the arousal well before any rush of power. Harry held on to the thought of Malfoy, enjoying the old image of his lover lounging on the bed in front of him, after all, it was this kind of enticement that had first engaged his magic. It was indulgent, but Harry decided he could afford it, even if he couldn't explain exactly what he was doing to Professor McGonagall. He missed Draco: his touch, his deep eyes and even his banter, and Harry did not deny himself the passion that the Prince of Slytherin could still conjure in him.

Passion and magic began small in his body, but Harry sunk into both feelings, marking the growth of one in tandem with the other. This was not a switch as before, it was more a dial and Harry wound it up just a little. He flopped backwards onto his pillows as his skin began to itch with potential, his careful preparations be damned. The approach was more gradual than he was used to, but Harry knew well enough where his magic was leading, and without qualms, he pushed off his pyjama trousers and freed the beginnings of an erection. The memory of Malfoy teased: he was the voyeur one more, watching from a forced distance and his mind and magic filled in the blanks. Harry murmured as the merest suggestion of his power trickled out through his body and he enjoyed the subtlety.

Harry loosened the stoppers on his magic further, drawing it closer to the surface as he had practiced with Professor McGonagall and his murmur became a groan. He knew he was unleashing something that he had no idea how he controlled, and a small part of his brain resolved to monitor what was happening, but the rest of him abandoned any kind of logic in favour of the pleasure the experience was generating. Harry lifted his lower body off the bed into an imagined caress and that invisible touch slid down between his legs, pressing against his sensitive skin. At that point, the itch and subtlety went to hell, and Harry dropped any hope of control. The slight lift became a rear into space as magic flared into the forefront and possessed Harry.

Harry was speared and clutched tightly, the ferocity of his own power taking him by surprise and the Freehand writhed in pain and pleasure. He landed on his side, breathing hard and trying to relax against the intrusion that had replaced his memory of Draco and was not going to stop. This was Draco at his worst, demanding, rough, inconsiderate, but incredibly enlivening and the abandoned lover growled his memory and bid it run its course.

Pushing back into the nothing that had him spread, Harry wrapped his fingers around his sheets and buried his face in a pillow. He grunted as the magic responded, ghosting what had once been his partner, deep and hard. He liked it like this, sex almost as a fight, but this time there was no body to grapple and no contest to win, so Harry let his magic have all of him. He was gripped as firmly as he was penetrated and the Freehand kept no conscious control, or even awareness of how his power was working as his physical reactions took precedent. He relied on the silencing spells on his curtains to block his moans and cries and lost himself in the memory.

Whether Malfoy's current cruelty affected his instincts, Harry had no idea, but the result was that when he came it was a shuddering, whole body experience and his magic pounded him throughout it. Only as his stamina ran out did his power follow suit and Harry collapsed onto the bed, panting and stunned. He didn't move from his boneless pile for a long time, lying in the dim light he had created for himself behind his curtains. He was sore, muscles strained, body aching and mind reeling. The itch was still there, his magic was running just below his skin, but there would be no more practice tonight. When he did move, it was to manage a cleansing spell, which made him groan his weakness and to then crawl under the covers. Harry fell asleep still in shock of what the memory of Malfoy and his own lust had achieved.

* * *

Harry was still sore the next morning, and still thinking of Draco. He missed breakfast and mused his way through the morning, less certain of his reactions the night before and wondering what he had been on. He managed to ignore Malfoy during most of his lessons, getting the ingredients for the sleeping potion completely correct, much to the chagrin of Professor Snape. However, the thought of Malfoy may have influenced his choice of route to lunch, a route which under more alert circumstances he would have known better than to take. Harry plodded down the quiet corridor limping occasionally as an abused muscle in his leg made itself known. He was hungry, having missed breakfast, and his mind was on lunch, so when Harry turned a corner and belatedly recognised Draco as the body at the other end of the corridor, he froze for a second, staring into much more aware features. The dream of Malfoy and the reality merged for a hot moment, and it was a throb in his groin which woke Harry enough to make him turn on his heel rapidly.

"Running away, Potter?" Draco goaded.

That wouldn't have been enough to hold Harry in the corridor: he had been bitten twice so far and he did not intend to make it a third. However, Malfoy called after him, "It won't do any good, y'know, the spell is already cast."

Harry came to a halt again, but he did not turn, torn between the anger he felt at Malfoy's betrayal and the knowledge that staying probably would make things worse, despite what his tormentor was saying. Draco laughed mockingly at him and Harry did turn then, and, stalking back up the corridor towards the much more collected adversary, he demanded, "Why are you doing this?"

Malfoy didn't respond immediately, he just grinned triumphantly at the silent, confused rage in Harry. Harry stopped a few feet away from his ex-lover, not trusting his reactions if he moved any closer. Draco, however, wasn't satisfied with that and stepped right up to him: Harry froze.

"You're so easy to manipulate," the Slytherin taunted as the scent of him filled Harry's nostrils. "This is just too much fun."

There was none of the badly hidden anger in Draco now, at least none Harry could discern, he was back to the sure, scheming bastard Harry had come to fear the previous term. Harry was no longer scared, but he was hurt by the cool exterior that hid everything else and he did not have any ready-made barriers to conceal his emotions. He knew Draco could see the conflict and confusion that rested just below his surface, but he couldn't look away from the ice-like gaze which examined him.

"Were you this easy for the Mademoiselle?" Malfoy questioned, his eyes narrowing.

Harry took a rapid step back at the mention of the mad witch, and caught off guard, he went into full retreat as Draco advanced on him. Before he could turn and flee, Harry found himself grabbed by his uniform and slammed into the nearest wall. He pushed back as a body suddenly pinned him to the stone, but Draco smashed his head against the wall and he was told, "Intriguing."

Harry stopped fighting, momentarily dizzy, but mostly defeated by his own confusion.

"She really bothers you," Malfoy observed as Harry refused to meet his eye. "You are interesting, Harry. You've always been interesting, and this just becomes more and more fun. I wonder what your prudish little friends are going to say when they find out that you and I were more than just a few kisses?"

Draco's hand slid down between them and over Harry's groin. The physical goad was too much and, with a growl, Harry shoved his tormentor away. Laughing, Malfoy went with the push and Harry charged off, trying not to run as he was mocked all the way.

Harry didn't go to lunch.

* * *

True to his viciousness, Draco had done his worst over lunch and there was wide-eyed silenced when Harry gathered up the courage to attend his first class after the break. Neville was glowing red when Harry sat down next to him, so he surmised that whatever the information had been, it had been luridly detailed. Longbottom could not do more than embarrassed, but after a while, Harry began to sense that, at least his house mates, were hostile to the news. That feeling grew the more Gryffindors Harry encountered that afternoon as accusations sat behind every stare: he had stepped over a line.

Harry tried to brave it out, finding a solitary corner of the common room in which to sit and start his homework after lessons and his training with Remus had finished, and he ignored the stares and whispers for as long as he could. However, when Ron, accompanied by half of the seventh years, came into the room, the atmosphere went from remote disapproval to a close chill. Harry glanced up at his comrades and was hit by a wall of dislike: Seamus, Lavender, even Parvati were all stood shoulder to shoulder with Ron, and his best friend had a look on his face which Harry couldn't stand. 'I told you so' was bad, but the look of self-righteous anger in Ron's eyes hit all the wrong buttons in Harry.

Harry wanted to yell at him, but the itch was back in his fingers and fear of what might go with the yell far outweighed any pride or defiance the Freehand had for his friends. Hastily he gathered up his things and, crumpling them under one arm, he headed rapidly for the boy's dorms. He caught sight of a rather surprised look on Ron's face as he fled, but Harry's heart leapt into his throat as he realised that his best friend had started to move after him. Once out of sight round the first bend of the stairs, Harry dashed the rest of the way to the dorm. However, as he took hold of the handle, he heard Neville's voice argue, "...but he seemed pretty upset about it in lessons."

Stuck between Longbottom and company and the sound of footsteps on stone, Harry followed the only course left to him: up. He'd been all the way to the top of the tower before: it ended in a blank wall where some sensible person had blocked off the roof many years since, but in his need to escape, Harry had not considered how to hide. He ignored all the other dorms' doors and kept going all the way to the end of the staircase. Yet, what he saw at the very top was not a blank wall as he remembered, but a battered old door unlike any of the dorms, which was slightly open. Harry didn't give himself time to consider why there was a door where there hadn't been one before, he just dived through it and slammed it behind him.

Dropping his books, papers and pens, Harry flattened himself against the panel and closed his eyes, trying to stave off his magic. He had panicked and that wasn't helping his control, and it was calm down or be forced to cast. Harry took some rapid breaths more from panic than exertion, but then gulped in a lungful and held it, trying to make everything settle. He told himself that the knowledge of the itch was new and he was overreacting to it, but still his pulse raced.

"Hello," a curious male voice interrupted his thoughts.

Harry opened his eyes with a start and his magic tipped over the edge

"Accio book," he cast quickly and the nearest volume he'd been using for his potion's homework flew up, missed his hand due to the urgency of the summons, hit the ceiling and then nearly broke his wrist as he caught it.

Harry landed in a heap at the foot of the door as the heavy tome knocked him off balance. However, this did not seem to affect the tone of the voice that spoke to him again and observed, "Oh, the Freehand; having problems? No wonder you need somewhere to bolt. Welcome."

Harry looked up and around the room, searching for the source of the voice. He was instantly reminded of Dumbledore's study, there were books and papers, odd-looking items, portraits and just odds and ends everywhere. Yet, Harry could not see their owner.

"Up here," the helpful voice told him and Harry was drawn to a big desk set under a window. It was wide and deep with a set of thin cupboards about a foot and a half high at the back of it, two on either side of a decorative carving. It took Harry a couple of glances to notice that there was a wooden figure in front of one of the cupboards and another blink to realise that the figure was waving. Harry didn't quite believe that the deep voice he had heard came from such a tiny form, but he was greeted again with, "Come over here so I can take a better look at you."

Harry did as he was told and also did some looking of his own. The wooden man was no more than a foot high, but the carved detail of his outline was moving as though alive, not like wood at all. He was young, no more than twenty five or so, dressed in clothing that Harry thought might be mediaeval, his hair shaggy to his shoulders, and he even had a carved, close-cropped beard. There was a sword at his belt and a cup in his hand, and Harry had a distinct impression of recognition, but he didn't know why.

"Who are you?" Harry asked, knowing he was staring, but unable to stop as he examined the figure who was much more detailed and animated than a chessman.

"Godric Gryffindor at your service," the little man greeted, bowing deeply and then looking up at Harry with a grin across his face.

Harry sat down rapidly in the chair that was thankfully next to the desk and gawped.

"Well, a memory of him anyway," the statuette continued. "And you are Harry Potter, I'm guessing."

Harry nodded.

"Thought you might be joining us a few years ago, but you weathered that one alright, but now you're here, so make yourself at home."

"Where's here?" Harry decided it was prudent to ask as he found his tongue.

"My study," Godric's statue explained, waving his arms proudly around at the room. "I left it here in case any of my own should need a place of refuge, and you, My Boy, certainly do."

"I have to go," Harry decided very quickly, standing up and heading back to pick up his things: he may have been talking to a statue, but with the mention of how he had ended up in the room, he had no intention of going through the whole sordid affair with yet someone else.

"Where are you going to run to next, Harry?" another voice, much harsher than Godric's interrupted his second flight of the evening. "You've reached the last resort."

When Harry turned back to the desk he saw two wooden figures on the table and Godric was glaring at the newcomer. He didn't need any hints to know who this was, not when stood next to Godric and he worded his knowledge with, "Salazar Slytherin."

The statue fixed him with a stare that, if not altogether hostile, was not welcoming either. Godric was chest to arm with Salazar, who was ignoring him, and so he complained, "I told you to wait."

"The child was going to leave," Salazar returned logically, waving his arm dismissively at Harry. "Someone had to do something."

Harry glared at the ultimate Slytherin for being called a child and being treated so casually.

"And being rude is your solution, Salazar?" a female voice joined in and another statue poked her head around the door of one of the cupboards.

"He's still here, isn't he?" Salazar defended himself as the woman stepped out of her hiding place and was shortly followed from the same cupboard by a second female statue.

Both young women were stunning, long hair flowed over intricately carved, floor-length gowns and their faces were beautiful. Harry guessed the slightly shorter woman was Helga Hufflepuff, since there was a badger embroidered on her sleeve, and Rowena Ravenclaw he instantly decided was a dark beauty, despite the fact that she was all wood-brown. Harry sat down again, too in awe of the four founders to leave, even if they were only a foot high.

"Welcome, Harry," Helga greeted, walking all the way to the edge of the desk nearest him. "I am Helga Hufflepuff, and this is my good friend, Rowena Ravenclaw."

"Be accurate, Helga," Salazar snarked, walking up behind her; he did, however, wrap an arm around her shoulder as he explained, "We are in fact no more than fond memories created in old age when friendships had died."

"Who created you?" Harry found his voice again.

"I carved us," Godric told him proudly.

"Rowena gave us the life you see," Helga smiled at her friend, who walked over and slipped a hand into hers, "and we were my idea."

"I would have considered us superfluous and a waste of magic," Salazar added, but not too severely.

"You consider everything superfluous," Godric taunted, his hands on his hips. "Where would those in need of refuge come if we were not in our studies?"

"One or two wailing children in a century hardly makes up for the investment that went into us," Slytherin rolled his eyes in a way that told Harry this was an old argument.

"Gentlemen, please, we have a guest," Helga reminded her companions. "Now, Harry, please be so kind as to put the kettle over the fire and we shall discuss things over a cup of tea."

* * *

Harry did as he was told and took the opportunity to look around at the room some more. He kept glancing back at his wooden companions, but apart from Helga, who was smiling sweetly at him the whole time, the others were whispering amongst themselves. He had been too surprised by his arrival to really think of much to say or ask, but as he became accustomed to the place, the manual task gave him an opportunity to gather his thoughts, and he was brimming over with questions by the time he was sat back in the chair nursing a large mug of tea.

"Now Dear," Helga reengaged Harry as she perched on the raised edging of the desk, "I'm sure you have some things you would like to ask us."

The other three founders joined their friend and Harry drew in a deep breath. With Salazar staring at him, Gryffindor rivalry came out and he was unwilling to make a fool of himself, but he had thought back to the moment alone in the corridor when he had felt something open and he had to express that thought.

"I felt this door open on Sunday, didn't I?"

The founders all looked at each other at that admission, clearly surprised and it was Salazar who told him, "Yes. Your sensitivity is most unusual."

Harry was rather glad that his admission seemed to have made an impression on Salazar, although he had no idea why he wanted to impress a Slytherin, let alone The Slytherin. He pressed on, addressing Godric, "You said studies, do you each have one?"

"So that we may assist any pupil," the man returned with a nod.

"And we may each move between them via the closets on the desks," Rowena indicated to the cupboards.

"Why did the door open now?" Harry asked, not really knowing if he wanted to hear an answer.

"No other refuge for you, Boy," Salazar crossed his arms and patronised.

"The magic used to provide such access is not exact," Rowena began more clearly. "When we are needed the door to one of the studies opens and you need us. Everything happens for a reason."

"I just wanted to get away from Ron," Harry found himself confessing before he could be embarrassed about it.

"Your best friend?" Helga sounded upset by the admission.

"How do you know about me?" Harry defended himself against the pang of guilt the woman had inspired.

"Hogwarts knows you and all its pupils, therefore we know you," she replied.

"How much do you know?" Harry felt his collar grow hot as his defensiveness grew.

"We are not spies, Harry," Godric sounded offended.

However, Helga held her hand up to her comrade to quiet him and continued, "We have access to the public areas of the school, and certain private rooms where permission has been granted, and we have watched you and your friends grow up in a time of such trouble."

The founder was certainly good at placating and Harry felt better about things. He concentrated on the young woman and asked, "So what do I do here?"

"That is up to you. One of us will always be here if you wish to talk, or you may want to use this place as somewhere to reflect in safety and comfort," she smiled and then glanced over to the door as she added, "or even somewhere to do your homework in peace."

Harry looked over at the pile of work he had left in a heap on the ground and sighed.

"You sound like Hermione," he observed and walked over to retrieve the papers.  
  



	17. A Difficult Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting worse for Harry, but Hermione is still there for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [beren_writes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/beren/pseuds/beren), my excellent beta reader

Harry spent all evening in Godric's study, sometimes working on his essays and sometimes chatting with Helga or Godric. Rowena and Salazar had disappeared in each other's company when Harry had started practising his charms spells and caught the carpet alight (which Godric had taken well with a laugh, apparently not bothered by the damage). Any conversation had been refreshingly light, and did not even broach the subject of why he wanted refuge. Harry descended the stairs late that evening, hungry, having not eaten at all that day, but feeling safer and saner thanks to his new friends. He went straight to bed, too tired to bother answering his hunger and slept soundly.

The next morning things did not go so smoothly. Harry managed to make it out of the dorm with only glares from his fellows, which was better than the yelling match he had half been expecting from Ron or Seamus. However, he had slept too well and risen late, and the common room was quite full when he entered it. He walked rapidly through the silence that fell and headed down to the kitchens, deciding that going to breakfast would not be prudent. He therefore stayed out of the way until he had to venture towards the classrooms and his bad day began.

First, Harry nearly mowed down a couple of Hufflepuffs who froze as they saw him coming down the corridor before he saw them. The two girls looked like they were going to cry, even more so than they had when the failed romance had been announced. One of them even looked like she was on the verge of saying something and so Harry had charged between them and carried on his way, head down. Hufflepuffs were innocuous enough, Ravenclaws with notebooks were less easy to ignore and Harry went bright red when one boy looked him obviously up and down and began scribbling in his pad. Harry had dived down a convenient corridor at that point just to avoid the Ravenclaw or his companions beginning their quest for knowledge and, heaven forbid, asked any questions. That meant he had to take a long route to his first lesson and that was not such a bright idea.

Harry knew he was going to be late if he didn't hurry and so he dashed around a corner and slap bang into a group of mixed Slytherins and Ravenclaws. Harry was rather glad for the presence of the intellectual house, because he suspected he'd have been hexed without thought by the Slytherins alone. As it was, a couple of the younger pupils drew their wands, not having forgotten the cracker incident the previous term.

"Well, well, well," one of the older boys began, a familiar sneer on his face as he stepped directly into Harry's path, "if it isn't The Boy Who Fucked."

Harry couldn't believe what had just been said, especially since there were much younger pupils present, whose mouths fell open. However, the name caller wasn't finished and he jeered, "Now we know what that freed hand is for."

Harry felt the itch in his fingers as his temper did a bad job of staying even and he was in no mood to take such disgusting taunts.

"Eluo!" he intoned clearly and aimed at his adversary's mouth.

The youth choked and suds began spurting out from between his lips.

"Your mouth needed rinsing," Harry snapped at him and raised the shield he had been practising with Remus the day before as he noted wands twitching.

"Hey!" one loyal Slytherin objected for his comrade and then childishly cast an insect jinx at Harry.

The spell bounced off and hit a portrait on the wall, who was not pleased when she grew feelers out of her forehead, in fact she objected quite loudly until her voice also disappeared. A couple of the younger Slytherins looked like they were about to have a go as well, and so Harry cast the disarming spell twice in quick succession. He then took several rapid steps back from the group and took up a duelling stance, his scarred hand held above his head. No-one moved: every pupil looked like a deer caught in headlights. The fear in every eye sent a chill right down his back and Harry realised there were many more lines he could still cross. Rapidly, he dropped his aim and paused only long enough to check that there would be no more retaliation before he headed back the way he had come.

Harry was shivering from considering what might have come next if anyone had been so foolish as to challenge him when he arrived late for Transfigurations. Anyone else might have been docked house points, but Professor McGonagall was out of her seat faster than should have been possible at her age and she took hold of his arm.

"Harry, are you alright?" she asked, and guided him to a seat where Neville grabbed his arm.

"You're white as Sir Nick," Neville told him.

"I nearly," Harry half confessed, but found himself just repeating that several times.

"Miss Granger, take over the class," the teacher instructed and then Harry found himself on his feet again.

He was whisked away to a back room by his tutor and sat down once more on a pile of old school books.

"You nearly what, HaHarrryHarry?" Professor McGonagall asked in a low voice one she had closed the door.

"Smithers," for some reason Harry suddenly remembered the name of his victim, "started calling me names, so I jinxed him with soap in the mouth," he gabbled his confession, "and then some of the others tried to cast, so I disarmed them."

His companion's reaction was not the horrified one Harry was expecting, in fact Professor McGonagall was regarding him with some confusion.

"Then what is the matter, Harry?" she asked.

"I could have, I could have set them on fire, or even worse," Harry admitted guiltily. "I took up a duelling stance, I could have thrown anything at them."

Professor McGonagall stood back and told him, "Could have, Harry, but you didn't."

For a moment, what had been said didn't make sense and Harry objected, "But I could."

"So could any witch or wizard with a wand," his teacher dismissed. "You have to stop being afraid of what might have been, Harry, or you will break down very quickly."

Harry sagged at the lack of response, but his heartbeat did settled as well and he found a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"Stay here a little while and calm down," the woman advised, patting his shoulder, "and join us when you feel better,"

The professor waited until Harry looked up at her and nodded dumbly, and then she turned and left.

Harry sat in the still of the small room for a while feeling shell-shocked and somewhat foolish. However, when he had calmed down and worked up the courage to face the room, his teacher merely smiled cordially at him and indicated to his seat beside Neville. Harry sat stock still for the rest of the lesson knowing that every eye behind him was on his back and that every person in front of him wanted to turn and stare as well.

When the lesson finished, McGonagall called Harry over to her desk. Once he was stood beside her she asked, "Are you alright now, Harry?"

He nodded slowly, still haunted a little by what could have been, but sensible enough to push the worry to one side. As the last student disappeared out of the room for the morning break, his teacher shut the door with a flick of her wand and regarded Harry carefully.

"How are you dealing with Mr Malfoy's latest revelations?" she asked once Harry had met her gaze.

"Just carrying on," he replied with a shrug.

"And that contra tent this morning was just carrying on, was it?" the matter in point was pressed home.

"You didn't hear Smithers, Professor," Harry objected, going hot and cold as he remembered the revolting address.

"No I didn't and I hope I never shall. Do you wish to make a complaint?"

"No!" the Freehand answered quickly, feeling odd enough without dragging the staff into the mire with him.

"You do not wish to make a fuss," McGonagall concluded correctly and nodded to herself. "Alright, this shall go no further, but keep in mind Harry that we expect a certain level of behaviour from our pupils at Hogwarts, both you and others, and we will certainly intervene if necessary."

"It isn't necessary, I'm fine and so is Smithers," Harry shook his head rapidly as just imagining the fallout from The Boy Who Lived running to a teacher made him blush.

Silence fell and Harry just looked at his tutor openly. She seemed to be considering something, and finally it came out in, "Harry, I know that your friends are not taking Mr Malfoy's news well either. Do you wish me to speak to them for you."

Harry shook his head again, although he remembered his manners and replied, "No, thank you, Professor, it will blow over, and Hermione and Ginny are still talking to me."

That seemed to satisfy Professor McGonagall, and she stood up with another nod.

"As you wish, Harry. Do not hesitate to speak to me on any matter."

"Day or night," Harry smiled and repeated Dumbledore's offer, finishing, "Thank you."

* * *

Surviving the rest of the morning and then walking to the cloisters for a quick break before lunch should have been an easy task, but Harry was finding his journeys were anything but simple. As he headed on his way, feeling better about the morning after his talk with his Head of House and the fact that nothing had gone wrong in the last two lessons, Harry's morning took a further dive when, within a few corridors, he discovered that Malfoy was lying in wait. Draco was not alone, he was stood with Pansy and Blaise and was holding court for a further group of awed Slytherins. Harry met his ex-lover's gaze and knew this was not going to be pretty, and so he just kept on walking past the clutch of students, resolving to ignore his second taunting session of the day.

"We hear you terrorized a bunch of first years, Potter," Draco began with a laugh in his voice, "and then you panicked about it."

The whole group tittered; Harry kept going.

"Really, Harry," Draco's voice changed tone to one that brought Harry to a stop, "you have to learn to control your urges."

His cheeks grew hot, but Harry still couldn't resist glaring over his shoulder at Malfoy, who stood among his cronies, his arms folded in front of him and a look of disdain on his face: Salazar. Harry's mouth dropped open and he almost forgot his animosity as he looked at Draco's stance and realised why he had wanted to impress Slytherin the night before. Draco saw the change in Harry and it visibly phased him for a moment, his smile of superiority slipping, but it was just for a moment and Malfoy challenged his way out of it with, "What's the matter, Potter, did I distract you?"

Another titter and Harry felt himself grow redder: he did want to pin his opponent to the wall and shag some sense into him, a hot and difficult realisation. He had no words for his adversary, only silent defiance and he clamped his jaw shut in a hard line, but still he didn't move from his spot.

"Nice to see that you're available if I need another alibi," Draco tormented Harry with far more grace and finesse than Smithers, but the laughter from their peers was less enthusiastic this time.

When Draco took a step towards him, Harry saw Blaise begin to reach out and only Pansy stopped him from interfering, although, in a glance, Harry noted her discomfort about the confrontation as well. Yet, he lost interest in anyone else as he caught the scent of Malfoy's aftershave. He fixed his features again, trying to look aloof, but even as he began he was wondering how much he could truly hide. Already smarting, Harry prepared for whatever his opponent had in store.

"Harry!" a call interrupted that which had not quite begun and Harry turned to see Hermione and Ginny moving rapidly down the hall.

"Saved by the Head Girl," Draco observed coolly, but it was in a whisper just for Harry.

Harry stepped away from Malfoy and turned to meet his friends, chills at the tones in his ex-boyfriend's voice running up and down his body.

"Coming to lunch?" Ginny asked, slipping a hand through the crook of his arm and starting to move off before he had opened his mouth.

"Yes," he managed and went with the pull, glancing only once back at Draco, whose expression was unreadable.

* * *

Flanked by two determined women, Harry did nothing about controlling his own path as he tried to work out what had just been about to happen. Yet, he remembered the lecture about not worrying about what might have been, and so after turning several corners away from the confrontation, when they came to halt, he glanced at both his friends and concluded the whole incident with, "Thank you."

"Don't let that sick son-of-a-harpie get to you," Ginny advised, patting his arm as she released him.

"Trying not to," Harry agreed, but knew he was failing miserably; that failure irked him and he chose to face the rumours he had been trying to ignore by asking, "So, what's the damage this time?"

"No-one's told you?" Hermione seemed shocked.

Harry shook his head and returned, "People have just been glaring, so I went into hiding last night and no-one has given any details this morning, except Neville is still bright red whenever he looks at me."

"It is pretty lurid," Ginny bit the bullet as she made a face, and Harry steeled himself for the worst. "Draco's been saying he seduced you, aggressively, and that you couldn't resist him. I don't know if he gave any details or just hints and people are making the rest up."

"Knowing him, he left people with just enough to make things up for themselves, and keep the details as ammunition for later," Harry growled, his collar prickling even with only his two friends present.

"You have far too much insight into that lowlife," Hermione announced loudly, her features setting into a determined smile. "Come on, lets go to lunch and forget about him."

* * *

Forgetting about Draco altogether was not possible, after all, he was in the Great Hall as well and most of Harry's table were glaring at the Slytherin table and then glaring at him. However, Ginny and Hermione did a valiant job of buffering him from the rest of his house, and Harry was grateful to them. Yet, after another afternoon of scowls and whispering, Harry retreated once more to Godric's study.

Rowena and Godric tried to cheer him up with a display of dancing that left Harry in no doubt of, but some confusion to the fact that there was chemistry between the partners, since he had been certain the evening before that Salazar and Rowena had been an item. It was Salazar whom Harry spent most of the evening watching out of the corner of his eye, however, and now he had seen the similarity with Draco, the thought wouldn't go away. Salazar Slytherin to Harry had always been a dark man, but his statue was made of wood, and so Harry could supply his own colour of ash blond to the thick hair that moved around the man's sharp features very attractively, and the eyes, that frequently let him know that his subject knew of his interest, were the palest ice blue-grey.

Slytherin was aloof and disdainful the whole evening, but that just drew Harry further in. He liked Godric and Helga, they were open and friendly, and Rowena was likeable if a little mysterious with it, but Salazar was the founder who captured Harry's interest. Even more so when suddenly as the night was drawing on, his mask of superiority dropped away and he dashed for his cupboard. The other three statues had looked at each other, and Harry had seen some kind of knowledge pass between them, but nothing had been said. After that, despite protestations from Helga to the contrary, Harry had had the feeling that something urgent was happening and he was in the way. He had in fact been content to quit the study early and had plodded down into what was still a late-evening common room to finish the remnants of homework that he had left.

There were only a few sixth and seventh years left in the common room, and Harry found himself a quiet place away from all of them. He was deep in thought about what good examples of the use of bind weed he could think of when a shadow fell across his page. Harry was already smiling when he looked up at Hermione, whose outline was unmistakable and he offered, "Usual place?"

She nodded, and, once more, he abandoned his homework and they headed out of the room.

* * *

The week had been a little warmer than the previous and the icicles outside their window had melted, but Harry gazed out at the sill lit by orange light instead.

"You disappeared again tonight, and you missed dinner," Hermione reprimanded, but there was concern in her voice.

"Couldn't face all the staring," Harry replied honestly and turned to look at his friend. "Dobby got me a sandwich."

That seemed to placate Hermione's immediate worry, but she continued, "You can't keep missing meals, people are beginning to notice and Professor McGonagall has mentioned it to me twice. Draco was crowing about having you on the run as well."

"And we can't have that," he snarled much more bitterly than he had intended.

"Don't let him get to you," Hermione urged, rubbing her hand on his arm.

Harry turned away and complained, "He's already under my skin, Hermione, how am I supposed to ignore that?"

There was no reply, which drew Harry's attention far quicker than any words. Hermione was looking at him with concern, but there was more than that behind her stare.

"What is it?"

His friend took in a deep breath and began anxiously, "I don't know if I should tell you this."

"What?" Harry demanded immediately.

"There were Aurors here this evening, I was with Professor Dumbledore when they arrived, and they requested an interview with Draco," came out in a worried rush.

Harry's heart skipped a beat and his mind flipped back to the dishevelled, tired youth he had seen come into Anquir's room and his concern dwarfed anything that Draco had done in the last few days.

"They didn't take him away again, did they?"

Hermione shook her head at Harry's urgency and he resisted the urge to go and demand details from the headmaster.

"And I was leaving when I heard Dumbledore insist that Snape be present throughout," his friend reassured. "I knew you'd want to know, so I kept an eye on things and I saw Draco leave the potion's classroom about half an hour ago. He didn't know I was there and he looked awful, he didn't even wait for Snape."

Harry leant against the wall and stared at the ceiling for a while as his thoughts raced. The information didn't match the collected, cruel mask that had faced him at lunchtime, but it gave him hope that he could find a solution to his Malfoy problem.

"Be careful, Harry, he'll take it out on you," Hermione warned, and Harry knew she had seen the glimmer of hope on his face.

"Can't get much worse," Harry shrugged, but then he frowned and voiced a nasty idea, "Except maybe if someone goes to The Prophet."

"Don't say things like that!"

Harry didn't like the thought of the news of his private life getting outside the school grounds anymore than Hermione appeared to, but he filed it away just in case he had to steel himself against even more public ridicule. It left a horrible taste in his mouth, so he decided to divert the conversation with, "So, how are you and Ron getting along?"

"Apart from the shouting match last night, you mean?" Hermione sighed.

"I didn't know, I'm sorry; it was about me, wasn't it?" Harry apologised guiltily.

"That and the fact that Ron's the reason all the Gryffindors are glaring at you: he wouldn't keep his mouth shut and when he told them about the morning at the cottage, they all sided with him."

Harry didn't want to believe his best friend had betrayed such personal detail to the rest of their house, but it was depressingly possible.

"How much did he say?"

"Not all of it, he left out the stuff about Aleyn and those band-things, but he said enough before I stopped him."

Hermione went red as she mentioned 'those band-things' and irked Harry.

"They were a game," he objected, making his friend go even redder. "You don't play games with Ron?"

The young woman looked like she'd been hit with a full body bind, naked and in public, and her eyes were wide with shock as Harry refused to back off the subject. The overall effect of the normally composed Head Girl completely lost for words cut through Harry's annoyance and he laughed. Finally, Hermione blinked at him and took a breath, and only then did he observe, "Okay, so no games."

"Not exactly," Hermione shifted from foot to foot, but there was a twitch at the corners of her mouth as her gaze danced anywhere but on him.

That just made Harry laugh harder.

"I don't think we need to swap war stories," he soothed the scarlet colour on his companion's cheeks and winked at her as she glanced at him. "And thank you for stopping Ron."

Hermione smiled then, a wide, wicked gesture and she admitted, "I was planning on smoothing the waters this evening, but that'll have to wait till tomorrow now."

"Smooth a few knots out of Ron's back, that'll smooth the waters," Harry advised, going to a happy place for a moment as he remembered oil-slicked hands over his chest.

His friend's eyes were wide again and her mouth was open, but the redness was disappearing as she became accustomed to the risqué side of their relationship once more.  
  



	18. Friends and Complexities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry continues his training in the difficult atmosphere Malfoy has created, and he learns some things about Gryffindors and Slytherins from the originals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [beren_writes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/beren/pseuds/beren), my excellent beta reader

Harry made his way to bed much later, when the rest of the dorm was silent, but instead of descending straight to sleep, he quietly fumbled in his trunk. Since shocking Hermione with his suggestions of massage, Harry had been musing on the fact that there were unopened bottles of oil in the container from Pandora's Box and he retrieved one, wrapped it in a tatty old paper bag that had once held sherbet lemons and placed it beside his glasses on his table for the following day.

Hermione and Ginny were still the only Gryffindors speaking to Harry the next morning; he met them both in the common room, where they appeared to be loitering with the intent of accompanying him to breakfast, but he only stayed with them long enough to demonstrate that his spirits were high and to slip the bottle of massage oil into Hermione's bag unseen. Then he went to breakfast anyway, taking Hermione's advice to heart, but he sat alone, having insisted that Hermione sit with her boyfriend and he ate quickly, leaving early.

He went through most of the morning ignoring his fellows, except Neville, with whom he had to work, and finally he was ignoring his lessons as well in favour of considering the news that Hermione had delivered the previous evening. He hadn't slept well as images of Draco: lover, interrogate and bastard, had disturbed his sleep, but he had woken thoughtful. When Snape had started scribbling on the blackboard, Harry had lost interest and begun to doodle rather than taking notes. He was drawing eyes, very specific deep grey eyes all over his paper when another piece of parchment, neatly folded, landed gracefully right under his nose. It unfolded without his consent and Harry hastily grabbed it as it tried to flatten out on the desk where Neville could see it.

It had taken him only one glance to see that the coarsely-drawn contents were lewd in the extreme, and he knew exactly where they had come from. Draco was grinning at him when Harry glared over his shoulder at him. He turned quickly back to his desk and began crumpling up the note. 'Miss me?' was scrawled across the top of the page and that more than the pictures made Harry look. As he slowly smashed the page, Harry could not miss the many groupings of figures in varying sexual positions, all of which the lovers had tried and all of which cast him back to one steamy memory or another. Harry was nauseated that Malfoy had sent him such a vulgar message in potions of all places, but he was aroused at the same time, more by his own recollections than the note itself. He knew he'd gone red again, his cheeks were burning, and he finally scrunched the paper into a tight ball.

"Is there something you wish to share with the class, Potter?" Snape made Harry jump he had been so intent on the note, and, aghast, he looked up at the teacher who was walking towards his desk.

The entire room focused in on him and Harry looked down at the note in his hand, knowing without a doubt that there was no way he was sharing this with anyone.

"Um, I made a mistake, Sir," he lied quickly, "had to start again."

Snape did not seem convinced, and the look in his eyes was one of triumph.

"I will be the judge of that, Potter. What is in your hand?"

Harry had no choice, he held out the parchment, not knowing what else to do, but he glared at Snape all the same: the man knew very well what had to be going on, he was too shrewd a teacher not to have realised. The Freehand was angry at what began to seem to his paranoid side a conspiracy between two Slytherins to embarrass him further. It wasn't as if he couldn't have done without more ammunition for the gossips. Anger and the hint of arousal met and Harry felt his fingers itch, but it was so quick that he had no time to really register it; as Snape reached out towards the ball of paper, it suddenly erupted in flames. The fire was hot, and with a yelp, Harry dropped the quickly engulfed note.

"Oh no!" he added and threw his heavy potion's textbook down onto the burning paper.

Diving on the mess, he quickly made sure the fire was out and, retrieving his slightly singed book, apologised hastily, "I'm sorry, Sir, I didn't mean to do that."

Snape stood over him, his face set in a hard stare and returned, "How convenient."

"I didn't mean to," Harry repeated earnestly, standing up to his full height, which matched Snape's.

"Sign of a guilty conscience then," the teacher continued and his eyes flicked from Harry to Draco and back again before he spun on his heel and, stalking back to the blackboard announced, "Twenty house points from Gryffindor for incendiary behaviour leading to the destruction of property and thirty house points deducted for deceit."

Harry sat down again with the grumbles of his fellows in his ears, and even Neville glared at him this time, no sign of embarrassment left.

* * *

Harry sat alone at lunch and at dinner, determined to show his face, but unwilling to burden Ginny or Hermione with his company. Then he sprinted up the stairs of Gryffindor tower to the very top and entered the study. For a moment on entry, Harry thought he might be alone, since there was no-one stood on the desk, but then Godric's voice greeted him, "Welcome, Harry!"

"Evening, Godric," he replied, dumping his books on the desk and finally locating his friend on the mantel shelf.

Harry walked over to the fire and warmed his hands and then looked more closely at what the statue was doing. There were little puffs of smoke coming from a tiny pipe in his hand.

"That's a bad habit," Harry joked: he felt an easy kinship with Gryffindor that spoke to all the traits people admired in those of his house.

"I'm made of wood, Boy," Godric laughed back, his heels swinging off the edge of the shelf.

"Even more of a dangerous habit, then," Harry returned, "you could catch yourself on fire."

"Now I hear that's your speciality," his companion winked and wagged the mouthpiece of the pipe at Harry.

"You heard about that?"

Godric laughed again as Harry felt himself grow red. The foot-high man climbed to his feet, and, brushing himself off, replied, "It was all the sixth year were talking about in the common room after lunch. That Weasley girl was doing a sterling job of defending you, though."

Harry turned from the fire and went to his book bag. He began pulling out books and quills before he decided to be open with Godric and continued, "She shouldn't, it will make her unpopular."

"Balderdash!" his host replied, walking down a pile of books from the mantel, along a dresser and then back on to the desk, lecturing all the way with, "Since when have Gryffindors worried about popularity in the face of supporting their friends?"

"Against other Gryffindors?" Harry countered, slamming a particularly heavy book down on the table that forced Godric to grab the side of the desk.

After steadying himself, Godric puffed out his chest, crossed his arms in front of it and argued, "Doesn't matter who, Harry."

Harry sagged at that and sunk into the chair. He rubbed his face, tired and fed up with all the hostility and admitted, "Malfoy is too good at this, I can't compete."

His companion relaxed and leant against the side of the desk, a frown on his face. Harry just sat and watched him, aware that there was some consideration going on. Finally, he was told, "He certainly has a knack for viciousness that rivals Salazar's, but he may not be as cool about this as you may think."

The mention of Salazar and Draco in the same sentence made Harry think back to the previous evening; the conversation with Hermione and Salazar's rapid exit made a connection.

"There's another pupil in need of refuge, isn't there?" he concluded rapidly, sitting forward, and he heard the hope in his own voice as he pressed, "It's Draco, isn't it?"

Godric looked conflicted for a moment, but then replied with a sigh, "I can't confirm that, Harry, every pupil is entitled to our confidence."

"But it was after he was interrogated by the Aurors that Salazar ran off last night," Harry barrelled on with his own reasoning, not requiring his companion's confirmation. "It has to be him."

"No wonder you nearly ended up a Slytherin," Godric observed, his tone a mixture of derision and something that Harry thought was admiration.

"How do you know about that?"

Godric looked smug at that and, strolling across the desk, replied, "Sorting Hat: do you think we wouldn't keep an eye on who ends up in our houses? Anyway, my point is, you can be as sharp as them, be careful, you might cut yourself."

Harry decided that he was right about Draco, but didn't say any more, he just mused a little on the news. Godric, however, had a question of his own, which he voiced while eying Harry curiously.

"Why are you so interested in Draco Malfoy anyway?"

For a second Harry wondered if his companion had completely missed the point of everything that had been happening, and he went red again as he considered how to break the news. However, Godric read him almost instantly, laughed at him and dismissed that idea with, "No, I know about that, Boy, and you are not the first, believe me."

Harry's mouth fell open and he was laughed at some more: he thought he had to be scarlet.

"Slytherins and Gryffindors: natural opposites, of course they're going to attract," the man returned, leaning nonchalantly on the other side of the desk.

Harry wasn't that good at reading body language, but he'd learnt enough to gain a few hints from the way his friend was smiling. However, he had not learnt much subtlety and he gabbled quickly the conclusion to which he came with, "You and Salazar?!"

Godric did not look in the least bit shocked, even though Harry felt like he was creating a glow greater than the fire. In fact, his companion grinned at Harry, and winked for the second time that evening. However, he neither confirmed, nor denied the conclusion, but continued, "I was asking about you and the young Malfoy: he is quite something to look at, but what do you see in him?"

"What do you see in Salazar?" Harry challenged back, not certain he could answer Godric's question.

Gryffindor had begun to wag a finger and had opened his mouth to challenge the avoidance of the question when Harry was saved from answering by the sudden opening of the door. Harry spun in his seat and was greeted by, "Oh damn, sorry Godric, I've done it again."

The entrant was about to continue, but then he noted that he was not talking merely to the statue and his mouth fell open. Harry found himself staring at a Gryffindor first year, one whose voice he remembered from Hallowe'en. He hadn't taken much notice of the boy apart from the unwitting rescuer he had been that lonely night in the toilets, and he didn't know his name. The boy looked instantly awed and awkward, and, one-on-one, Harry found that the first year was not brave enough to scowl.

"Jono!" Godric greeted, "Come in, come in."

Jono didn't react instantly, he stood with his hand on the door and glanced at Harry. Harry nodded and the first year closed the door.

"You again," Salazar's caustic voice announced his presence, and he and the ladies appeared from the furthest left cupboard.

"I'm really sorry," Jono began apologising again, hovering by the entrance, "I was going to the dorm, I really was."

"Then get out and go to your dorm," Slytherin withdrew his fellow founder's invite.

However it was Rowena who contradicted him with, "Now, Salazar, you are well aware that every happenstance has a reason."

"If you have reached us, you are welcome, Jonathan," Helga added.

The boy still looked sheepish, but at the kind woman's bidding, he sidled closer to the table.

"Hello, Jono," Harry decided he liked Godric's name for the newcomer.

"M-Mr Potter," came back at him, and made Harry remember that he was an imposing figure in house circles.

Godric laughed, Salazar snorted, but Harry, along with the female founders, chose to be gracious, and replied, "It's Harry, Jono."

"I'm Jonathan Vindweg," the boy helpfully introduced himself.

"You're the one who got lost on Hallowe'en," Harry recalled with a smile.

Jono made a face, and shifting from foot to foot, admitted, "And trying to get to the Quidditch pitch, and the infirmary and countless other times. I'm meant to be a pathfinder, inherited it from my Dad, but I can never remember where I've been and so I get lost."

"And it is that naïve ability to discover new routes that brings the nuisance here, not a genuine need," Salazar complained bitterly. "He should not be here!"

The nervous child backed away from the table, but Harry turned to Slytherin and told him, "This is Godric's study, and he's perfectly happy for Jono to be here."

Salazar narrowed his eyes on Harry, who narrowed his right on back and there would have been a standoff, but Rowena went to Salazar and Helga crossed to the edge of the desk near Harry, offering, "Peace, My Friends, peace. There are aspects to the magic of this place that even we founders do not know. It is down to no witch or wizard to decide who enters our chambers, only fate. Now Harry, if you would be so kind as to make some tea, we shall make both our guests welcome, Salazar."

* * *

Helga's approach to everything seemed to be to make a cup of tea, but this time it worked because both Salazar and Harry had calmed down by the time the tea was ready and Jono, if no less nervous, sat down in a chair by the fire. Harry took the one opposite and launched, "So you got this trick from your father?"

Jono nodded and Harry saw Helga smile as the boy sipped his tea and then explained, "He's a really good pathfinder. He goes all over the world. He saved a hundred people when a mineshaft collapsed in South Africa, found a route to them for the rescue teams and then led everybody out. If there's a route, he'll find it."

"That sounds really exciting. Do you want to do that kind of thing as well?" Harry encouraged, taking his lead from Helga and being rather glad that a Gryffindor was actually talking to him.

His companion made a face and replied, "At the moment I'd settle for not finding every secret path round Hogwarts. It was bad enough dealing with those staircases, but there are so many other secret rooms and passages, I just keep finding them by accident. It's like at Hallowe'en, I only went to use the loo and I ended up following this old set of stairs with cobwebs all over it up three floors and then I had no idea where I was. I was so glad Malfoy was there."

Harry couldn't help himself, at the mention of Draco, he shifted and Jono saw. Harry wasn't sure what expression he had made, but hastily, the child apologised, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have mentioned him."

Harry gulped down some of his tea, and spotting Helga regarding him intently, somewhat consternated, he managed, "Can't ignore his existence."

Jono relaxed again and that seemed to satisfy Helga, who seated herself on a pile of books on the mantel shelf near Godric. Gryffindor was sat on the mantel shelf, smoking his pipe once more, and Rowena was cuddled up beside him, but Salazar was pacing up and down behind the other founders, silent but clearly unhappy still. Jono glanced up at the mantel anxiously, and Helga jumped in with, "So, Jonathan, the skill is in remembering the path which you have taken?"

"Yes," Jono replied. "My Dad has a photographic memory, says he remembers landmarks and turnings. He's been teaching me ever since I started showing signs, but he says it takes years of practice and I have to be patient. He says he got lost here all the time: never mentioned this place though."

"You must have a talent for unlocking magic as well," Rowena surprised Harry as she offered her opinion. "Just because a path is there does not mean that anyone can follow it. You may wish to mention this to a member of staff."

The boy looked excited and a little frightened at the same time. Salazar hrmphed at that and Rowena looked up at him. Her expression was not aggressive, but the man halted his path and uncrossed his arms. The beauty smiled and told her fellow directly, "It is either that or the magic intends Jono to be here."

"The child has friends aplenty and nothing from which he wishes to seek refuge. Why would the magic intend him to be here?" Salazar objected with insensitive reason that reminded Harry all too abruptly that he was a fugitive in the place he called home.

"Salazar, be quiet," Godric waded in with all the subtlety of a dragon in a timber merchants.

Harry sipped his tea and hoped without much confidence that Salazar would not rise to the bait: he was familiar enough with Slytherins now to know winning the argument was everything. It did not come as a surprise, but more a disappointment when the founder made true on his breed and snarked back, "Unlike our interloper, that one is no child, and he can well face facts that he has put himself into this mess and we are merely trying to reassemble the pieces."

The venom in Salazar's voice shocked Harry. It had not been there the evening before and he found himself thinking of Draco: the way Slytherin's hair flicked back from his face when he moved his head angrily, the manner in which he crossed his arms, and especially the way he looked down his nose, literally and figuratively on his companion Gryffindor. Harry saw red and forgot about his young companion as he stood and yelled, "Why don't you run back to your little Slytherin that needs your help. Even if he started this whole mess, I'm sure he's much more worthy than I am!"

Salazar took a step back from Harry, concealing a momentary look of shock of his own. He turned the shock into anger and again Harry couldn't stop himself thinking of Draco as the beautiful man aimed that anger at Godric and accused, "How dare you break such a confidence."

Godric was climbing to his feet in a heartbeat, his mouth open to object, but Harry got there first and countered, "Godric told me nothing, I guessed and he wouldn't say, but you've just confirmed my theory."

Salazar's eyes flashed, and Harry was very satisfied with the reaction he generated, and he readied himself for another barrage of words. However, Rowena surprised them both once more and stepped in with, "Salazar, Harry, please, say no more: there are confidences in this which must not be broken."

Harry backed off immediately as Rowena put things rapidly into perspective: he would not have wished Draco discussing his visits to the study in front of anyone, and no matter how much he disliked him right at that moment, there was something about the way he felt in the safety of the study that shut his mouth. He sat back down in his chair and turned his attention to Jono. The child was looking scared again and Harry knew he was glaring, but everything had been going so smoothly before this 'interloper' had turned up. Still, there was more than childish peevishness in Harry and he forced himself to settle before he opened his mouth with, "You will ignore what was just said, won't you?"

It was clear from Jono's gaze that he had come to some conclusions about the conversation, but he widened his eyes, brought his shoulders up to his ears and replied, "There was something said?"

"Thank you, Jonathan," Helga sounded relieved at the promise, and then scolded, "There are one two many tempers in this room at the moment."

The cloud above Salazar was thundery, but he said no more, instead he stalked back off the mantel shelf towards the desk. Rowena was helped to her feet by Godric; she curtsied to the gathered company and then she walked silently after the man. Harry remained quiet until his antagonist had disappeared into one of the desk cupboards and then he told Helga honestly, "I'm sorry, but he rubs me the wrong way really easily."

"You and me both, Lad," Godric jumped in before Helga could accept or reject the apology. "Snarky Git would be putting it mildly, but he grows on you after a few hundred years."

"We all have our faults, Godric," Helga pointed out evenly.

"I seem to have upset the cauldron as usual," Jono began a mea culpa.

However, Harry was not about to let the child take the blame for something that had changed overnight, and so he assured him, "Wasn't you. Slytherin, Gryffindor, natural animosity."

"There is nothing natural about animosity," Helga scolded sharply, and her hands were on her hips when Harry looked at the petite figure on the mantel. "We must all understand each other's strengths and weaknesses or we shall never get along. Some of us must merely try a little harder than others."

Godric snorted and waggled his pipe at his friend, saying, "Helga dearest has been harping on about this since I've known her."

"And would you have spoken to Salazar at all if I had not been there?"

"Probably not," Godric shrugged, and then muttered, mainly in jest, "And sometimes I wonder why I bothered."

"Godric!" the gentlewoman rebuked. "Without differences this school would not have the strength it does."

Godric rolled his eyes, making it quite clear this was a very old conversation and Jono laughed as he was meant to. Harry didn't, he was more interested in Helga's point of view, but he wasn't ready to express any reason why, or to admit it, so he sipped his tea and just listened.

* * *

Helga and Godric continued to banter for a good five minutes, which entertained Jono and inspired deeper thoughts in Harry. He recognised much of what the female founder was saying, he had heard it from Hermione albeit in the different context of reconciliation after Voldemort. He had known the traditional rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin had always been there, but to see the current times put into the perspective of hundreds of years made him feel better about the future of the wizarding world. He was still thinking about such things when Jono announced he had to leave, and when he was meant to be doing his homework, and when he stumbled down the steps to a late bed.

Harry was still thinking on that subject days later, it being preferable to the growing rumours of his sex life. Harry hadn't spoken to Draco directly in days. He endured the taunts and jibes silently, more interested in the undercurrents that were controlling his ex-boyfriend. Harry became a watcher, focusing on logic and theories over emotion and facts. He kept himself to himself when in public, which was pleasing Ron no end, but worrying Hermione, with whom Harry continued to have private conversations in corridors. The young woman had been surprised, but pleased by the gift Harry had left in her bag, and their conversations remained amazingly frank to the point where Harry knew that the couple had more than patched things up after their row about him.

Still, by Saturday, that had not stopped a link between Harry and Pandora's Box from circulating, whether sourced from Ron or not. The news had been buzzing round the Gryffindor table at breakfast as yet another reason to stare at the solitary figure at the end of the bench. Harry hadn't reacted when his ears had picked up the infamous shop's name, but as soon as he'd finished his porridge, he headed back to the dorm.

So far, Harry did not think his dorm mates had been any nosier about him than listening to rumours, however, there had been mention of purchases from Sybil, and his paranoia had decided that leaving the treasure box at the bottom of his trunk was a risk he could no longer afford to take, not when he knew Seamus was an expert at unlocking charms. Harry dove to the bottom of his trunk, extracting the cognac and cloak as well as the interesting box and then dashed up the dorm stairs with them. There was no-one at home when he carried his collection into the study, and he was sliding them carefully into a cupboard when he heard wooden footsteps on the desk. Harry glanced over his shoulder and greeted, "Morning, Godric."

"Harry!" his friend returned, waving: he didn't ask what Harry was doing, but the look Harry was being given told him the curiosity was almost too much for Gryffindor.

Harry smiled: Godric was like Ron in so many ways, and his nightly visits to the statue's study had given Harry a trust in his friend that he missed with Ron.

"Stuff I don't want my dorm mates to see," Harry explained. "Do you mind if I leave them here?"

That gave Godric all the leave he needed to be inquisitive, and he asked, "Is that a bottle I see? On school grounds?"

"Left over from New Year," Harry continued: he hadn't explained all the details of that intense night to the founders, but Godric knew enough to nod his understanding. "I was hoping to share it with Draco, but I think I'll just give it back, along with his cloak."

"He'll probably assume they're jinxed," Godric growled and Harry caught him rubbing his rump.

"What did he do?" Harry asked, knowing he probably wasn't going to get an answer, but trying anyway.

Godric gave him a 'don't ask' look, so Harry went back to packing the items into the cupboard.

"No nosing in the box," Harry decided to be direct about that, and then regretted it as his companion grinned impishly.

"Oh yes?" Godric winked at him.

"It's the wrong size for you and anyway, you'd do better with beeswax," Harry goaded back, and his friend roared with laugher.

Harry closed the cupboard and strolled over to the desk.

"I have Quidditch practice today," he confessed nervously, and worded his concern with, "It's going to be difficult if the only member of the team talking to me is Ginny."

"Just use your authority, Lad," Godric assured him. "That's what Dumbledore gave it you for. Then they'll have to listen."

"I'm not so sure," Harry let out a little of the increasing isolation he was feeling when surrounded by his house mates.

"If they want to win, they'll listen."

* * *

Harry walked on to the Quidditch pitch trying to channel some of Godric's confidence. He was five minutes late thanks to spending too much time with Godric and it was Ron who snarled, "You're late."

"Sorry," Harry fought with himself to be civil, which was difficult around Ron these days, "lost track of time."

"Typical, no consideration for others," Ron continued to moan.

Harry very deliberately ignored him and barked, "Right, let's fly. I want you in Attack Formation six, it was sloppy and Ravenclaw flew right through it last game."

The order did the trick: Ron's face was black, but he said no more; Ginny managed to smile; the others did as they were told without comment. Harry watched his team soar into the air, proud of them even if they weren't proud of him and lowered his own broom to climb on. However, he tensed as he heard an unexpected voice tease, "Don't you know other uses for that broom, Potter?"

Malfoy was the last person Harry had expected to be anywhere near the Quidditch pitch and he spun on him more in shock than aggression. However, both Crabbe and Goyle took a step towards him and he came to a rapid halt, scowling. Once they had made their point, Harry ignored the two bullies who stood one either side of his nemesis and glared at Draco.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" he demanded, gripping his broom firmly in case he needed to use it.

Draco looked him up and down: Harry ground his teeth, he would not blush for this mixed-up tyrant.

"Came to see how you're getting along, Harry," Draco returned, stepping between his body guards towards Harry. "You're far too quiet these days for my liking."

"Well I don't live for your liking," Harry hissed back, which raised an eyebrow, but no more.

The pair stared at each other, Gryffindor and Slytherin, enemies linked by far more than hatred now, and Harry saw the game disappear from Draco's icy eyes.

"You'll howl before I've finished with you, Harry," Malfoy promised in no more than a whisper.

"I've dealt with far worse than you all my life," Harry defended himself in equally low tones, almost nose to nose with his tormentor.

Draco's eyes narrowed, but any reply was interrupted by a yell from behind: it was Ron and he bellowed, "Oi, Malfoy, clear off!"

Draco took a rapid step back between his protectors and glared up at the sky. Harry didn't see, but he heard the scrape of boot on grass as more than one person landed close behind him and he saw the threat of it appear in Crabbe and Goyle's normally dull faces.

"Get lost, Malfoy," Ginny joined her brother, and one Weasley appeared in Harry's peripheral vision either side of him.

Draco was not intimidated, but he was annoyed and that kept him thin-lipped and silent as he cast his gaze over what Harry knew to be the whole team surrounding him.

"Ah, isn't that sweet. The little Gryffindors united. Pity we all know it isn't so," Draco snarked, cutting deeper than any sexual jibe could go, but Harry clamped his jaw straight and just glared.

Malfoy's eyes flashed at him one more time, and then Draco finished, "See you around, Potter."

Harry stayed taut and emotionless as Draco turned and stalked away, his toadies in tow. Only when his nemesis was completely out of sight did he try to relax, and then he discovered that he was shaking. It wasn't fear, or even anger that caused his shivers, in fact, he didn't really know what had instigated the tension release, but as his companions spread out from the tight-knit huddle they had formed, it was Ginny who took the time to notice.

"Harry, are you alright?" she asked, taking his arm.

He nodded, not trusting his voice not to waver, and then glanced around at the faces watching him. Ron was glowering still, enough that 'thank you' stuck in Harry's throat. The others, save for Ginny, were looking at him like he'd grown another head. They'd stood next to him when it counted, but Harry knew he still had a lot of bridges to mend. Gratitude was just going to make the situation more awkward, so Harry fell back on Godric's advice once more: steadying himself, he clapped his hands and announced, "Right, back in the air, let's see if we can't be a team up there."

Julian looked especially relieved that the moment was over and was up in the air like a shot. The others followed, Ron next and then the rest of the team, except Ginny, who dallied.

"Are you really alright?" she checked.

Harry nodded again and managed a smile, and with a pat of her arm, sent her up into the air with the others.

* * *

The training session actually went very well as Harry concentrated on Quidditch tactics and techniques and so did his team. The pitch was, however, the only place where the rumours did not reach, and over the next few days, Harry continued to spend most of his time with Godric, his substitute Ron. This did not help his relationship with the real McCoy, who had settled for the silent treatment, and Harry was, quite frankly, avoiding dealing with anything more than school work and hoping things would die down. Yet, by Tuesday there was no sign of slowing and the items bought from Sybil were beginning to circulate. The Gryffindors still weren't talking much to Harry, but their anger had morphed into 'appalled wonder', as Hermione had put it, and they, like the rest of the school, were hanging on Draco Malfoy's every word. Of course, no-one could confirm the information was coming from Malfoy, he was too clever for that, and no-one could prove it was true or false, but no-one was asking Harry to confirm or deny either.

Harry charged into the Room of Requirement, his head down and his books clasped across his chest: it was the best way of ignoring the groups of whispering students who fell silent when he walked by. As soon as the door was shut, Harry threw his books down and pulled off his robes, dumping everything into an angry pile and staring at it for a while.

"Good afternoon, Harry," Remus greeted into Harry's frustrated silence.

Harry looked up at his tutor and friend, and blinked away the momentary show of emotion.

"Afternoon, Remus," Harry returned and continued honestly, "Can I blast the hell out of something today?"

"I believe we should be working on your control," Lupin returned evenly.

Harry made a face. He had spoken about just such a prospect with Professor McGonagall the previous day, since he was clawing onto control during the calmer side of his Freehand training, and it was time to apply that control to active magic. However, he needed to vent, his fingers were itching thanks to all the wagging tongues and wide eyes that had been following him around the school. His teacher looked at him, and Harry didn't know what he was showing Remus, but shortly he was told, "Alright, I think we can start with a little tension release."

Harry felt his shoulders begin to relax and he smiled gratefully at his companion, who smiled, a little sadly, back at him.

"Do you wish to talk about it?" Remus asked as he walked over to the inactive Machina Martialis and pushed it out of the way.

"Same old, same old," Harry replied as sanely as he could. "I should be used to my private life being everybody's business by now."

"I am sure the headmaster will speak to Draco if you wish him to," the teacher in Remus offered.

Harry tried not to make his look too harsh at that suggestion, he could see the worry in his friend's face and he replied, "No, thank you! I don't think quiet words from Dumbledore are going to help. No, I got myself into this by sleeping with the bastard in the first place, I'll just have to work this out for myself."

Remus did not look too comfortable with Harry's blatant honesty, but he did not make further comment. They shared a look which told Harry he still had support from his sometimes-uncle, and then Remus waved his wand. Three fast-moving balls of light shot out of the end of the wand and up into the air, dancing in all directions.

"Alright, Harry, now we can practice your aim. Hit them with everything you have, but make it precise," Remus ordered.

The Freehand had more been thinking about one large, destructive wave of magic and some satisfying sounds of obliteration, but this was far more sensible and appealed to the player in him as well as the frustrated teenager, so he nodded and poised himself while watching his targets closely. Remus hadn't specified raw or spell magic, so Harry let the itch in his fingers build without deciding himself. He didn't want to bother with control at that moment, so he left it to instinct. He traced the path of one of the dancing glows, focusing in and letting his interest grow. He felt his magic reach its limits and crawl under his skin, but he held it back a little longer, building the anticipation until there was no other choice: magic erupted from him like a geyser, and all Harry did was aim. That skittish little ball of light did not stand a chance, and it split into thousands of little stars as invisible, raw power sliced it apart.

Harry was breathing hard as he watched the tiny pinpricks of light fade away, and he was shivering from the release of tension, but he was more than satisfied with the few seconds' work.

"Good aim, Harry," Remus praised. "Now, the other two."

The Freehand glanced at his teacher, who was still smiling at him and he grinned back, searching for the itching again.  



	19. A Couple of Fingers of Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Godric tries to help and brings things to a head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [beren_writes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/beren/pseuds/beren), my excellent beta reader

Venting his frustration was pretty much all Harry could do over the next few days. He knew Malfoy was hurting, and he knew he had sought refuge in Salazar's study, but it made no difference to the way that the stories that were going round the school battered Harry's ego. Practically every hour revealed something new, and Draco seemed to be waiting round every corner with an audience to degrade him some more. The relentless pursuit the previous term had been bad, but at least it had been private. By Thursday evening, when Harry had heard a whisper of 'slave bands', he had fled to Godric's study, hoping fervently that Jono was not going to make a visit. He went straight to his pile of contraband in the cupboard, ripping it out of the hiding place and preparing to destroy the lot. The cloak went in one direction and the bottle of cognac rolled in the other and Harry's hands were on the discrete, black box before his audience made himself known.

"Bad day, Harry?" Godric asked, and Harry's fingers curled around the edge of the box, but did not open it.

"Terrible," he growled in return, but his protective anger would not last and he admitted with a sigh, "He's dragging it out, every time I see someone there's a new titbit about my sex life. I don't know how to make him stop."

"Salazar is doing his best," Godric revealed and surprised Harry out of his doldrums.

He dropped the box and charged, "You shouldn't have told me that."

The statue shrugged and leant on the edge of the desk in his usual nonchalant fashion, replying, "Only telling you what you already knew, and you need to know, Lad."

"Is Salazar getting through? Snape can't," Harry began to hope again.

Harry walked over to the desk and sat down facing Godric.

"I believe he has begun to talk, at least," Gryffindor looked awkward, "but I can say no more."

Harry nodded, he understood the need for confidentiality.

"Does he know about me?" he asked.

Godric shook his head rapidly.

"No, that would be fuel to the fire," Harry was told definitely. "That one is far too vindictive to keep such knowledge to himself. He would have you branded a runaway coward before the day was out."

The fugitive sunk back into his chair and indulged a little depression with, "Am I a coward?"

Godric snorted and paced the table, regarding Harry like he'd insulted him.

"In Merlin's name, Harry, you are one of the bravest people I know," his friend lifted his spirits again. "With the battering that one is giving you many people would have left the school, maybe even the country."

Harry doubted the exaggeration, but he appreciated the pep talk and smiled at his host. His ego was in pieces, not even logic and the quest for knowledge about Draco were protecting it any longer, and he was willing to take comfort wherever he found it.

"You're early today," Godric changed the subject and glanced at the clock. "No supper?"

"Couldn't face it," Harry shook his head and wrinkled his nose. "Don't have much appetite these days anyway."

"Dobby!" Godric bellowed and made Harry jump.

The house elf pop made Harry turn in his chair and he was looking at his oddly dressed little friend bowing low.

"Master Godric, Sir, how is Dobby being of service?" the creature asked, before he straightened, and then his ears dipped and his eyes widened as he noted Harry's presence. "Harry Potter is here?"

"Yes, Dobby, Harry's visiting me. Could you whip him up some supper?" Godric replied matter-of-factly as Harry squirmed under the elf's sympathy.

It was clear Dobby knew what the study was for, and Harry was none too comfortable with the doleful look he was receiving that held far too many conclusions.

"Dobby," Godric prompted and the elf bowed again.

"Yes, Sirs, Dobby is being back in a few minutes," Dobby bowed low once more and disappeared again.

A few minutes was in fact little more than thirty seconds, during which time, Harry had not said anything and Godric had not pushed him. A large platter appeared on the desk, shortly followed by Dobby popping back into the room next to Harry's chair. Harry looked at the array of food and his stomach rumbled: he had not been eating much and what he did eat was done so quickly in order to minimise his time in the Great Hall.

"Thank you, Dobby," Godric spoke for Harry, whose eye had been caught by a large helping of steak and kidney pudding.

"Is there anything else Dobby can be doing for Master Godric, Sir?" The House Elf enquired.

"No, that will be all, thank you, Dobby," Godric dismissed.

"Thanks, Dobby," Harry remembered his manners as he heard the pop of Dobby leaving.

"Hungry now?" Godric asked, waving his arm over the steaming array of food.

Harry nodded and his companion grinned.

"Alright, now, before you begin," Godric stopped Harry midway to reaching for a knife and fork, "I spy a good looking brandy on the floor, so how about a snifter?"

The statue unhooked a beaker the size of a thimble from his belt and waggled it out at Harry.

"You're a statue," Harry pointed out.

"Ah, but I'm a statue carved with a cup for a reason," Godric replied, winking.

Harry wasn't convinced, but his companion seemed sure, so he went and picked up the discarded bottle and brought it back to the table. His heart missed a beat as he looked at it closely for the first time since getting back to school and remembered the night it had been given.

"Excellent year," Godric approved, tapping the glass with his little wooden cup.

"Alright," Harry rolled his eyes at the show of impatience and reached for the stopper.

He felt like a trespasser as he opened the bottle, and a small part of him realised that there would never be a time for which he had been saving the tipple, but Godric was holding out his beaker expectantly, so Harry got on with the pouring. It took only a dribble of liquid to fill the cup, but as soon as it was full, Godric took a swig. Smacking his lips, he raised the beaker to Harry and told him, "Really good year."

Harry put the stopper back on the bottle, and grabbed his knife and fork hungrily.

* * *

Harry had demolished the steak and kidney pudding, a lemon tart and some cheese and biscuits, all washed down with a pint of butter beer by the time he was full; Godric had gone through four beakers of brandy. As Harry sat back and discarded the half-biscuit that had defeated him, his companion waved his cup again. Harry wasn't sure where all the liquid was draining to in the statue, but Godric really liked his expensive cognac.

"More?" Harry couldn't even see a waver in the way his friend was holding out his glass. "You don't get drunk, do you?"

"Perk of being made of wood," Godric replied, tapping his chest. "Now, how's about another? Join me?"

Harry reached for the bottle for his companion, but countered, "I have homework to do and drinking in school is an expulsion offence."

Godric climbed to his feet from where he was using one of Harry's books as a seat and dismissed, "Since when did you obey every little school rule? Anyway, it'll do you good. You're too tense, one snifter won't hurt."

Harry had in truth been eyeing the brandy all the way through his meal, wondering what it tasted like and his mind had wandered to what might have been had he and Draco had time to share it. Godric's cajoling therefore took him only that small step further, and once he had poured his friend's fifth drink, Harry reached for his beer glass and wiped it with his serviette.

"Good Lad," Gryffindor encouraged in a very manly tone as Harry poured himself enough brandy to cover the bottom of the pint glass.

Tentatively, he sniffed it: it ripped up through his nostrils with an intense aroma that made him pause. Still, Godric was watching, so Harry took a sip. It was fine on the tip of his tongue, even a little bland, it was when the drink hit the back of his throat that Harry spluttered. It was hot and firey and surprised his tonsils, and made a warm rivulet all the way down his gullet. Godric laughed, toasted Harry and took his own swig. Harry sat back in his chair again and eyed the rest of the deep amber liquid in his glass.

"Down in one and then pour another for later," Godric egged him on, and Harry was in the mood for rebellion.

He didn't cough the second time, and the cognac was gone in one large mouthful. Harry poured another helping into his pint glass, 'a couple of fingers' he remembered Uncle Vernon calling it. Then he put all the other items back on the tray and placed it on the floor. Godric was kneeling beside his glass, eyeing it when Harry sat back up, but he did no more than laugh and climb back to his feet, so Harry ignored the strange behaviour and reached for his books.

* * *

'Later' arrived about five minutes after Harry had started his homework: he was stuck in the middle of a complex transfiguration problem and more for a break than anything else, he reached for his glass and sipped the brandy. It tasted good, so he took a second sip and then returned to the puzzle at hand. The pattern repeated itself as Harry's homework stretched out before him. The brandy became easier and easier to drink as his palette became accustomed to it and he was soon pouring himself a second two fingers; Godric had laughed even harder at that and taken another 'snifter' to boot.

Harry didn't really notice the bottle contents go down, only that the room was acquiring a glow that made him feel better, and he began to care less about his homework. When he put his quill down, he didn't know, but he was in conversation with Godric when they had visitors. Helga entered first, stepping carefully between Harry's scattered homework. She was followed by Rowena and Salazar arm in arm, which looked more like Rowena was dragging her comrade with her. Salazar and Harry hadn't spoken since their yelling match the previous Thursday and the founder did not seem to want to be present. However, there was little arguing with Rowena or Helga when they set their minds on something, and it was more than obvious that, in this case, they had.

"Evenin'!" Harry greeted, tipping his glass in the salute that Godric also assumed.

Helga's face fell from her natural smile and she enquired quickly, "Harry, are you alright?"

Salazar was quicker off the mark when it came to assessing the situation, and Rowena no longer had to drag him into the room, as he strode over to the cognac bottle and snorted, "The boy is drunk."

"Am not!" Harry objected immediately, standing up rapidly; he grabbed the table as the room moved without his consent, but continued to protest, "Boy, or drunk."

"Inebriated," Salazar sniffed, walking round the bottle and viewing its reduction of contents.

Harry growled, but he always had to work at retorts for Slytherin snide and his brain failed him, so nothing coherent was forthcoming.

"Harry, how much of this have you drunk?" Helga looked at the situation with more compassion.

Harry smiled at her and replied openly, "Only a few snifters."

Harry really felt like sitting back down as Helga split into three and then reformed, but he wasn't certain where the chair was, so he just hung on to the edge of the desk and continued to smile.

"Godric, what has been going on?" Rowena stalked up to her comrade, her beautiful face set in a rather scary demand for information.

"Harry needed some cheering up," Godric shrugged, but Harry giggled as he saw the nervousness in the man in the face of woman.

"So you introduced him to the bottle?" Rowena charged, and it wasn't funny anymore.

"Godric's my friend. I'm fine," Harry defended, trying to be more eloquent, but failing again.

"You are drunk," Salazar challenged, crossing the desk and glaring up at Harry, arms folded.

Harry took a step back from the table and glowered back.

"What if I am?!" he snarled, accepting the majority opinion by default. "Doesn't hurt anymore."

But it did, and as he thought about it, the warm glow round Harry dissipated with horrific speed. The stress and pain was still there, and now it wasn't hidden below logic, or even his normal Gryffindor spirit. He felt his lips tremble as the hurt took him by surprise, but he bit it: he would not cry.

"Harry, sit down," Helga urged softly, but he didn't want to sit down.

"No," he snapped again, deciding to try and be angry.

"Don't be stupid, Boy," Salazar condescended.

Harry looked round slowly and grabbed the chair, pulling it back towards the desk from where his sudden rise to standing had taken it, but he didn't sit down, he wasn't going to do anything Salazar said, so instead, he climbed onto the chair, defying the moving world as he stood to his full height, almost touching the ceiling.

"Look at me, the stupid Boy Who Lived," he growled to his audience, "again and again and again."

That might have been it, a little demonstration of his frustration, but as Harry dipped his toe in the water of oratory, rage boiled up inside him and he continued, "I did what everybody wanted; I got rid of Voldemort, but they won't leave me alone even now."

"Harry, please get down from there," Helga was stood on the very edge of the desk, her hands held out to him.

The chair was precarious, especially since the cushion was not attached. However, Harry did not want to get down, so he stepped up a little more, past his wooden friends and onto their desk.

"Now, I'm the bloody Freehand," he continued his complaint, "so I have to learn all my magic again, just in time for my N.E.W.T.s. Is that fair?"

Harry looked to his closest founder friend, Ron-Godric, but his friend was looking up at him with horror on his face.

"Well?" he prompted.

"Harry, Lad, you need to calm down," his friend didn't answer him.

"Calm down, do as you're told, be good!" Harry yelled and the window suffered, flying open, as he let rip with some of his frustration.

The chill of the winter night matched Harry's downward spiral and his anger dissipated into the loneliness that had been growing in him since the start of term. With the alcohol running in his system, he had no defences against where his emotions were taking him, he could only express them. He stepped through the gap between the cupboards at the back of the desk and onto the deep windowsill. He grabbed hold of the frame and leant out into the night, looking down into the inky darkness.

"Can't see the ground, too dark," he commented with a laugh that took him by surprise.

"Harry, close the window, please," Helga continued to try to placate him, but Harry wasn't interested.

There was a ledge outside, about a foot wide: Harry climbed out onto it, sat down and swung his legs over the abyss below.

"Long way down," he mused, looking over his shoulder at the founders, who were stood in a line, leaning anxiously over the back of the desk.

Harry smiled at them, not sure where the gesture came from and then went back to staring down the high wall of the tower. There were lights at intervals down it, but this window was on the outside of the tower, looking over the rough ground below, and the golden beams stopped way above any sign of a solid surface. The perspective of looking down past his scruffy trainers made the world spin, and Harry gripped the ledge tightly, vertigo making it seem like he was looking down a long tunnel.

"He couldn't beat me," he muttered, thinking of Voldemort and growing more morose. "Blind bloody luck every time, but I beat him. But, one selfish, egot-tistical, nasty Slytherin and I'm history."

"You are not history, Harry," Helga objected.

"Am!" Harry snapped back on another wave of bitterness. "My best friend won't speak to me. No-one speaks to me anymore. They just point and whisper."

"Have you tried speaking to them?" Salazar sliced right through the self-pity that Harry had been cultivating; he didn't react well.

"What am I 'sposed to do?" he demanded, releasing the ledge to wave wildly at the statue. "Walk up to them and ask nicely if they'll talk to me?"

"It would be unfortunate if you were to throw yourself off that ledge, Potter, contain yourself," Salazar instructed calmly, climbing up onto the window sill shoulder to shoulder with Godric.

"What difference would it make?" Harry growled back, but he took firm hold of the ledge once more as he glared over his shoulder at Slytherin.

"There are some who would consider your passing a tragedy," Salazar sneered.

"Salazar!" Godric objected, and then hissed, "Is this helping?"

The antagonistic founder held his hand up to Godric dismissively, but Harry realised it was helping, it was channelling his pain into rage, and he grabbed on to that escape. Harry did not have anything to say to Salazar, but he glared hotly and let his anger build again. Salazar simply regarded him with his usual disdain; Godric stood beside Salazar, broader, scruffier, and apparently more concerned by the whole window ledge idea.

The men staring silently at each other enabled Harry to hear the two female founders talking rapidly.

"...but the magic would prevent them entering," Helga mourned in no more than a whisper.

After a short pause, when nothing but the fire fed by the wind made any sound, Rowena returned, "Jonathan could lead them in."

"No Jono," Harry objected, but he couldn't swing round far enough to see what the ladies were doing and Salazar chose that moment to restart their acrimonious dialogue.

"Do you not take any responsibility for this situation upon yourself? Why did you not trust your friends in the first place?" the man baited.

Harry's attention focused back in on Salazar and he saw eyes narrowed on him accompanied by a supercilious smile. His blood was boiling, but he didn't want to speak, to admit the horrors and secret pleasures of the previous term which had kept him guiltily silent on anything involving Draco Malfoy.

"No answer for me, Boy?" Salazar pressed, clearly scoring points for each rebuff.

Harry turned to stare at the inky night and defended, "You don't know what he did to me."

"Actually, I do," the founder startled Harry, but his expression was less aggressive when Harry turned back to him, wide-eyed.

"Then how dare you ask me that?" he growled, trying to be indignant, but knowing he sounded more hurt.

His eyes were stinging, so Harry turned away again, hiding his weakness.

"I dare because you need to answer," Salazar continued to push, firm, but less abrasive.

"Can't," Harry denied, his vision misting, "Not here," he bashed his head with his palm, "not here," he thumped his chest.

The world shifted with both rapid movements, and Harry returned to gripping the sill. Salazar was close behind him now, he sensed the statue at his elbow, and he thought Godric was there too, but he didn't dare turn to confirm it; he wouldn't cry.

"Tell us what you feel," Salazar urged, his voice low and neutral.

The deadpan way in which the founder addressed him steadied Harry, countering the waves of emotion that were running through his chest. He surrendered to Salazar's grip on the moment and confessed, "I was so scared of him, and angry. He wouldn't leave me alone and I couldn't fight back. He disgusted me, but I couldn't tell anyone, it was too horrible."

"What changed?"

Harry blinked away the tears he was fighting and drew in a rough breath. However, he knew exactly what had changed and when, and he admitted, "I fought back. My magic started to work properly and I wasn't scared anymore. I had power, he had power."

Harry couldn't be anymore precise, not with the brandy in his system. Salazar did not leave it there, though, he sought further clarity with, "It isn't just about power anymore, is it?"

Shivering more from his emotions than the cold, Harry shook his head and bit his lip.

"What is it about?"

The question was one that Harry had been asking himself since his invitation to Draco at the end of the previous term. Logic and denial had blocked his thoughts on that matter, but the alcohol had wiped away those protections and the truth was as clear as crystal. Yet it would not come out of his mouth, the words were so simple, yet Harry could not form them. He choked on the thoughts that explained everything.

"Tell us," Salazar urged.

"I," Harry began, but still he struggled.

Part of him wanted to reply, to scream the truth to the rooftops, but the rest of him, the scared, battered Gryffindor did not want the admission to come out. The tussle of emotions would not resolve, and then it didn't matter anymore.

"I did it," he heard Jono say, and the door opened, and then the room behind him was full of people.

"Harry, Mate, what are you doing?" the urgent call came across the room to him and actually warmed Harry's heart.

He turned in his seat and saw Ron striding across the room, concern all over his face. He had lost hope of ever sharing any emotion other than animosity with his best friend again, and he just stared at the fervent alarm in his comrade. Ron didn't stop at the desk, he climbed onto the chair, over the desk and out onto the window ledge. In a few seconds, he was sat right next to Harry with a firm grip on his arm.

"What are you doing out here, Mate?" Ron repeated himself.

His best friend was worried about him, enough to risk his own life, and that made the loneliness in Harry dim back to manageable proportions. He smiled widely at his companion and followed an instinct to be glib, "Enjoying the view."

"Not much of a view, Mate, and you're drunk," Ron delivered the home truth that Harry had already defended angrily with Salazar, but from Ron he took it with no more than a shrug.

Salazar, however, was still close by and commented, "Give the boy a medal."

Ron glanced over his shoulder in a good impression of Slytherin disdain and asked, "And what are you doing hanging around with a bunch of statues?"

The question was meant as a joke, but Harry's emotions rollercoasted up again and he looked away, his smile disappearing as he admitted, "They'd talk to me."

There was silence for a moment, and Harry glanced across at his friend to try and gauge the effect of what he had said. Ron was looking at his hands and was considering something and Harry didn't want to look away. He was waiting when Ron looked back up at him and decided, "I've been an idiot, haven't I?"

Harry had never been so relieved in his life and his smile crept back, a baby of the first, but he could feel it play over his lips none-the-less.

"So have I," he returned.

"Can we go inside now, I'm bloody freezing?" Ron requested.

Harry wasn't cold, he didn't know why, but Ron's lips were turning blue, so he nodded.

"Alright, you first, Mate," his best friend bullied a little, still holding him fast.

Gingerly, Harry began to bring his legs up under him and pushed away from the edge. The world spun as he moved, and he was grateful for the steady grip on his arm, he also accepted the collection of hands that took him as he crawled back onto the desk and then helped him to the floor. Harry ended up sat on the floor, his head in his hands as the room went round: he was sure it hadn't done it like that before. There were bodies all around him, little ones and big ones, and it was Hermione who asked, "Harry, are you alright?"

Harry just waved his hand in circles as words failed him. Someone patted him on the shoulder, and from the weight behind the action, he assumed it was Ron. The world did come to a stop after a few moments, and then Harry looked up and around at the faces surrounding him. Ginny and Hermione were knelt in front of him, Jonathan to one side and Ron was behind him, holding him up with his hand. The founders were all in a row between Hermione and Ginny.

"You should escort your friend to bed," Salazar informed Hermione, and naturally irked Harry.

The impersonal instruction made him defensive, so he pushed away from Ron and climbed to his feet, huffing. He was none too steady, but Ron quickly followed and had a palm under his elbow before the world could defeat his meagre balance. He waited for the room to settle once more, and by the time it did, everyone was standing and the statues were making their way back on to the desk. Thus, Harry turned in that direction to scowl at Salazar.

"Is this what you've been drinking?" Hermione asked, picking up the cognac bottle that had been swept to the side of the desk with all the toing and froing over it.

Harry nodded curtly, not sure what tone he heard from his friend. He hadn't noticed before, but the bottle was over half empty.

"Harry, you could have killed yourself," the young woman looked at him, eyes wide.

It wasn't quite an accusation, but Harry's emotions took it as such.

"So what if I did?" he accused back, not quite remembering the making up with Ron clearly enough to stop his hurt welling back up inside.

Harry turned and aimed himself at the door. Ron was not quite quick enough to catch him and he staggered rapidly for the exit, just wanting to get away. Nothing made any sense for long, and the reason he was fleeing disappeared as Harry reached the major obstacle of the spiral staircase. Yet there were people behind him, and long-standing paranoia told him to run before his addled brain could idenity them, so he started down the steps, the calls of his friends in his ears.

It wasn't so much walking down stairs as falling and using the curving wall as support. Harry staggered past the doors of dorms, momentum rather than intent taking him onwards.

"Harry!" Ron's shout came from a little way behind, but only the bad associations made it to Harry's head and he fell faster.

Others were calling him, and the commotion opened a door in front of him he wasn't expecting: Neville's curious gaze looked out into the dimmer corridor, and his eyes went wide like Herimone's had when he saw Harry.

"Grab him, Longbottom!" came from above, and Harry was in no condition to argue when he practically fell into Neville's arms and was dutifully hauled into the seventh year dorm.

Neville very sensibly aimed them at Harry's bed, and the pair toppled on to it as Harry mustered enough coordination to try and free himself from his companion. Harry continued to extricate himself, and Neville obliged, leaving him sprawling alone on the bed, merely trying to decide which way was up. He managed to get all the way onto the bed, but sitting up was too much as the world went round and round, so Harry relaxed with a groan, lying on his front. He heard the door close and then there were lots of people around his bed.

"What happened to him?" Neville asked, his disbelief strong in his tone.

"Drunk as a leprechaun on Irish Whiskey, only he's been drinking brandy," Ginny informed their friend.

"Drinking, Harry?" Neville's disbelief multiplied and Harry hid his face in pillow as a sudden pang of embarrassed guilt rushed through him.

"He's been having a bad time," Ron defended him, and Harry's heart warmed a little, "and a lot of it's our fault."

"What do we do with him?" Ginny asked. "We can't just leave him to sleep it off alone, he's too far gone."

Harry was still sentient enough to feel like he was on show, a familiar feeling that went with humiliation, and he tried to curl into a ball to defend his ego, but he couldn't quite get it right. Hermione sat down on the bed next to him as he moved lethargically and rested a hand on his shoulder.

"Lie still, Harry," she urged gently and coupled with his own failing coordination, he obeyed.

Hermione looked up at the gathered company while Harry watched her with half an eye, the rest being buried in blanket and pillow.

"We can't tell the staff, drinking is an expulsion offence," the Head Girl sounded very unprofessional, and very worried: Harry's guilt doubled.

"We'll have to look after him ourselves then," Ron decided, his face set in a determined grimace.

"All night?" Neville sounded anxious at that suggestion, but everyone was nodding when the moment was interrupted by the door opening.

The crowd around him closed in a little and Harry hid his face as he heard Seamus demand, "What's going on?"

Dean added, "And why is a first year in our dorm?"

"Close the door," Ron ordered hastily, and Harry heard the slam and then gasps of surprise.

"What's the matter with him?" Seamus asked and Harry remained hidden in the pillow, despite the fact that it was hampering his breathing.

"Pissed," Neville answered.

"No way!" Dean did not sound sympathetic, more amused.

"It isn't funny!" Ginny scolded, and the Weasley temper was about to show itself.

There was a lot of movement of bodies beside his bed, but Harry stayed hidden.

"Anyone told McGonagall?" Seamus asked.

"No!" came from just about every quarter, including Jonathan, and so Harry peeked at the unified defence he was being given.

Seamus and Dean were surrounded by the others, who were glaring at such a suggestion.

"No, we're going to look after him ourselves until he sobers up," Hermione took charge. "We'll split into groups, two at a time, and take shifts."

"And why should we help him?" Dean sounded hostile at the proposal, so Harry buried his face again.

"Because it was us being so bloody nasty to him that got him drinking in the first place," Ron rumbled menacingly, "And I'll hex you into next week if you get my best mate expelled."

"Fair enough," Dean mumbled and Harry looked again: Ron was standing over the other youth using all his extra inches to great effect.

Harry would have admired the way his best friend was defending him for longer, but he was suddenly distracted. The glow of the alcohol had long since gone, and the room lurching had made him feel queasy, but the full force of nausea took Harry by surprise. It wasn't a gradual thing, one moment he was mildly dizzy, the next hot bile was rising in his throat. Harry could barely move, put he slid rapidly over to the edge of the bed and threw up. His companions scattered in all directions, except Hermione, who sat next to him and rubbed his back as the contents of his stomach revisited the world.

Harry's retching continued until there was nothing left to come up, and, coughing, his throat sore, Harry didn't have the energy to move, so he sagged over the edge of his bed. Hermione was still rubbing his back and she soothed, "Deep breaths, Harry. Nev, fetch a glass of water. Dobby!"

The House Elf appeared in seconds and looked down at the mess on the floor, up at Harry, his ears dipping and then to Hermione.

"Dobby is cleaning this up," he told the young woman.

"Thank you, Dobby," Hermione replied as the elf went about his business.

Hands behind him, and Hermione in front then helped Harry back on to the bed, and as he landed on his back, he gratefully took a hankie from Ron and wiped his mouth.

"Here," Neville offered shortly and proffered the water for which he had been sent.

Hermione took the water, Ron pulled Harry into a sitting position and then he was given the glass. Gingerly, Harry drank the cooling liquid.

"Finish it," Hermione instructed, and explained, "You need to stay hydrated."

Harry nodded and downed the water, even though he was already forgetting the explanation.

The glass was swiftly removed once he had finished it, and then Harry sat dumbly looking at Hermione, whom he felt was in charge.

"Lie down and get some sleep," she told him, but the routine he had begun with the new term imposed itself on Harry.

"Wards," he announced and reached for his curtains.

Hermione looked confused, but Seamus derided, "Looks like the great Boy Who Lived doesn't want our help now anymore than he has the rest of this term."

"Harry, what are you doing?" Hermione asked as Harry tried to pull the nearest curtain across his bed and only succeeded in making a nasty ripping sound.

"Harry's been locking his curtains a night," Ron revealed that the wards had not gone unnoticed by the rest of the dorm.

"Why, Harry?" the question came and the answer was obvious.

"Danger," Harry told her, knowing that would explain everything.

The girl smiled and he smiled back at the understanding, but then he frowned as she stopped his efforts and countered, "There is no danger tonight, Harry, we'll look after you."

"No!" he objected hotly, pulling away from her concern: she had to understand, but he was not feeling eloquent as he protested, "Me, danger!"

"Harry, calm down, Mate," Ron took hold of his shoulders and Harry wriggled to free himself.

"Harry, do you think you're dangerous?" Hermione finally understood and Harry focused on her as he nodded vigorously.

"Itchy fingers," he replied, waggling one hand at her, and then took aim at a half-eaten bar of chocolate on his bedside table; magic surged through his body as unstoppable as his emotions, and as Harry gasped with the intensity, the sweet shot across the room and smashed into the far wall.

"Woah!" Seamus backed off even further and complained, "I always knew we needed danger money sharing the dorm with him."

"Can't control it all the time," Harry for once agreed with his Irish dorm mate, and then confessed, "Attacked Dumbledore."

"You've been locking your curtains to protect us?" Ron asked for confirmation, and his friend looked at Harry with guilt in his eyes once more.

Harry nodded and tried to keep Ron in focus as the world grew heavier around him. His best friend disappeared from view anyway as Harry failed to stop his eyelids from dropping with the lethargy that was settling over him. Yet, he could still feel strong hands holding him, and he relaxed backwards as he was guided down onto the bed.

"Don't worry, Mate, we'll protect ourselves," Ron assured him, and with a pat on his shoulder, Harry curled onto his side and sunk into inebriated slumber.  



	20. From New Friends Back to Old

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the Gryffindors back behind him, Harry must say goodbye to his new friends and face a truth about Malfoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [beren_writes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/beren/pseuds/beren), my excellent beta reader

Harry woke with a headache from the depths of hell and a large sense of guilt, which was, as far as he could remember, totally unfounded. He groaned as his head and shortly the rest of his body complained like he had flu and then he opened his eyes. His bleary senses noted movement close by, and as he came to, he realised he was surrounded by his dorm mates and friends. Hermione handed him his glasses, and Harry slid them on; the view gained clarity and Harry realised all his companions looked ruffled and tired. He groaned again.

"Harry, how are you feeling?" Hermione asked, a little too loudly for Harry's liking.

He winced and whispered hoarsely, "What did I do?"

"You don't remember?" Hermione asked, sitting down on the edge of his bed, and something stirred in Harry's memory, another similar moment, but he couldn't bring it forward, so he shook his head.

He groaned a third time as the dull pain in his head increased in time with his movements.

"You drank too much, Mate," Ron told him, coming round the other side of the bed.

"Oh Merlin, the brandy," Harry remembered opening the bottle with Godric, and then an image slipped into his brain and he worded it with, "There was a window, wasn't there?" Ron nodded, and he continued tentatively, "Why was I sat on a window ledge?"

"You were considering throwing yourself off it," Ginny replied and Harry thought he'd heard wrong at first.

That idea shocked him right to the core and he sat up rapidly, ignoring his throbbing temples.

"Suicide?" he checked.

The group looked around at each other, a previous conversation in their faces and then Hermione became the spokesperson as she replied protectively, "Alcohol is a depressant."

"I was a bit low, but not suicidal," Harry countered, scared by the thought that he had gone that far.

He wracked his hazy memory for anything that could explain what he had done, but only strong emotions ran through him and reinforced the idea.

"Why did you start drinking in the first place, Harry?" Hermione continued to speak for the group.

That much was clear and Harry replied with a shrug, "I didn't mean to drink much, I just tried it and then poured some more for when I was doing my homework."

"You drank half the bottle," Ginny pointed out, somewhere between worried, relieved and annoyed.

Slowly, Harry dragged his knees up to his chin, dragging a blanket with them and, resting his head on the prop, replied, "I'm paying for it now."

"Not to be bitter, Mate, but good," Ron joked, but then yawned loudly.

"Have you lot been up all night?" Harry forced himself to raise his head again and look around at them.

"It was supposed to be shifts, but some of us were too worried about you," Hermione answered honestly.

"I'm so sorry," Harry apologised, making sure he met the gaze of each of everyone of his friends, "and thank you."

"Yeah, well we've all been talking, and now you can make it up to us by answering some questions," Ron chipped in.

Harry's mind flipped back to the gang that had surrounded his bed when there had been mention of manly conversations: the emphasis may have been different this time, but Harry knew he was facing blunt honesty. Whether saying no would have made any difference, Harry didn't know, but he was aware of being on another threshold, only this one was much more important than sharing stories about tits. Meekly, he nodded his consent.

"Okay, let's get this one out of the way," Seamus, bold as ever started, and received frowns from his fellows, but that didn't stop him when he asked, "Are you in love with Malfoy?"

That observation clearly hadn't come from the Irish youth, and the way Ginny glowered at him, Harry could guess where it had originated. Harry didn't answer immediately; he opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Instead, he remembered something of the conversation with Salazar and the battle that his emotions had begun at the more subtle challenge. In the light of day without the alcohol in his system, Harry's thoughts were much clearer and, although the emotion was still there, it was easier to face. There was only one answer.

"Yes."

Seamus' mouth fell open, as he demonstrated that he had not been expecting such a clear and affirmative response. Harry glanced round at the rest of the room: Ginny normally looked smug when she got something right, but this time she looked unsure and concerned; Dean was one with Seamus on the disbelief, but Neville turned out to have better insight and was just looking perturbed not surprised; Hermione looked like Harry had just revealed something that she had known all along, and he decided that she probably had; Ron's was the gaze that Harry had to gather courage to meet, but he was surprised himself when he did and he saw an acceptance that hadn't been there the last time he remembered.

"Why didn't you tell us, Mate?" his best friend asked into the difficult silence.

"I didn't even tell myself until just now," Harry admitted, glancing down at his knees, "but I've run out of other excuses."

"You really can pick 'em, Harry," Dean commented.

"You think I expected this?" Harry tried not to snap, but he still clipped his words as the unfairness of it all got to him. "Everything was fine until Lucius Malfoy escaped."

"When would you have told us if that hadn't happened?" Neville surprised Harry again, and this time his friend did sound a little angry.

This was another of those moments, Harry could have glossed over the truth, made out he would have told eventually, but it was too late for that.

"Never," he answered plainly and heard the intake of disapproving breath around the room; that made him defensive and he charged, "If you were me, would you have told anyone else that you were shagging a Slytherin who everyone thought was your worst living enemy?"

"No, but then none of us were shagging Malfoy," Neville was like a crup with a bone.

"Please don't shout," Harry had no argument for his friends, he was too tender in too many places and he would take any accusation they wanted to throw as long as they did it quietly. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let it start, I shouldn't have let that bastard get away with what he did, but it happened and now I have to deal with the fallout."

"We have to deal with the fallout," Ron corrected and slapped Harry on the shoulder, which would have been a wonderful feeling, but it hurt too much.

Harry managed a grateful smile through gritted teeth, but then he sunk his head back on to his knees and asked, "So did I do anything other than try and jump out of a window?"

"You were planning on charging in to the common room," Hermione told him, and when he glanced at her through his fringe, she was smirking at him, "but Neville managed to grab you and get you in here."

"And then you threw up, snored like you were trying to bring down the walls and threw up three more times," Ginny described unflatteringly.

"Oh," Harry responded and commented, "I think I better stay away from brandy from now on."

"You don't, Mate, and you're on your own," Ron chided, but resisted another camaraderic slap.

"Harry," Hermione drew his attention and he raised his head properly as her tone told him she wanted to say something serious, "You also told us something about itchy fingers and attacking Dumbledore."

Harry would have said 'oh' again, but a lump suddenly entered his throat and his heart started to beat faster.

"You said you sealed your curtains because you were dangerous," Ron added and Harry couldn't look at either of his best friends any more.

Staring at the blanket over his knees, he replied, "I am."

"But you are doing well in classes," Hermione objected.

"It's not the spell magic that's the problem," Harry returned, wringing the blanket between his fingers as the very thought of his power suggested an itch. "When we came back from the Ministry, Draco was really angry and it was horrible. Dumbledore tried to calm me down, but I just got angry, so angry that I threw magic at him. I tried to stop it, but once it was going, there was nothing I could do. He deflected it, was really nice about it in fact, but warned me that unlike everyone else, I could get angry with my magic as well as yelling and that I had to be careful. I didn't want to risk it happening again, and I've been having nightmares, so I decided to seal the curtains."

"Do you know how much control that took, you idiot?" Ginny demanded, her voice shrill enough to make Harry cringe.

Once his head had stopped ringing, Harry explain, "Not the same. Spell magic and Freehand magic are different. I've been practising with Professor McGonagall and Professor Lupin, and I can tell when it might happen now, but I'm still working on stopping it."

"Well, you didn't do anything bad last night and you were drunk as a skunk and twice as emotional," Hermione observed with a shrug.

Harry appreciated the support, so he didn't counter the opinion out loud, but he said nothing in favour either. It was Neville again who pressed on with the conversation again and asked, "You're having nightmares again? Did you put silencing charms on the curtains as well?"

When Harry nodded, Neville grimaced and continued, "Have we been that awful to you?"

"The wards have nothing to do with the Malfoy stuff," Harry countered, feeling guilty enough already without sharing it around.

"Even so, until last night, you haven't spoken to anyone except me, or Neville in class in three days," Hermione pointed out. "That ends now."

Harry glanced around at a sea of nodding heads and despite the rigors of a hangover, felt a warmth in his chest that pushed it away a little.

"You stop apologising, we stop judging and then we all do something about Malfoy," Ron offered.

"No!" Harry objected loudly, too loudly for his sensitive hearing, but, holding his head he clarified before there could be any negative reactions, "well the first two sound good, but not the dealing with Malfoy, please. I have to find out what is going on with him, try and make this right before he and I start the war all over again."

No-one looked too happy with that suggestion, but he could see that Hermione accepted it, so he looked to her for support.

"Harry's right, we have to handle this carefully or we could end up doing the same thing that the last generation did," the young woman eventually spoke up seriously. "We don't want war, do we?"

Silence, but no-one disagreed.

"Alright, then let's just get through today and regroup at the weekend," Ron sided with his girlfriend.

Harry groaned: it was Friday, a whole day of lessons lay ahead and at the moment he could not even face moving, let alone classes.

"You have to go to school or Professor McGonagall will send you to Madame Pomfrey and she'll know for sure it's a hangover," Hermione told him and he groaned again. "We'll help you through it. Ginny, those headache powders Madame Pomfrey gave you when you got hit in the head with that bludger, do you still have any?"

"I'll get them," the younger girl replied and headed towards the door.

"Right, then the rest of us should get ready for breakfast," the young woman took charge and people were moving in seconds.

* * *

Getting washed and dressed had never been such an ordeal, but with skin that was sensitive to the lightest touch, a head that was threatening to split at a whisper and eyes that reacted badly to light, Harry found every moment a struggle. However, eventually he was dressed with help from Ron, Hermione had added a tint to his glasses to reduce the sickeningly bright morning's sunshine on his retinas and he had swallowed a double dose of headache powder, which reduced the throbbing to manageable proportions.

At that point, Harry would have refused to go to breakfast, but he was out voted by his very supportive friends and bullied down the stairs to the common room. According to Hermione they had to start the united front as soon as possible and he was not slinking out of it due to a little discomfort: in Harry's opinion, his friends were out to have a little revenge for the rough night and all the worry he had caused. However, he took the bullying meekly, since it made him feel far more accepted than he had since the beginning of term. There were no more hard stares or disapproving looks, at least not from his companions, and when the common room realised that the seventh years had changed their tune when it came to Harry, the same was true for the rest of Gryffindor.

The common room was relatively full of groups of pupils preparing for the new day, gathering into cliques for the trip to breakfast. Only one boy was sat alone: Jonathan looked like he had been waiting some time, and as soon as he saw the gathering of older housemates, he was out of his seat and heading over straight to Harry. The protective group of friends parted for the younger boy, and Harry greeted him with as big a smile as he could manage. He vaguely remembered Jono's help the previous evening, in the same way he remembered most of it, through a thick veil and in pieces.

"Are you alright?" Jono asked in a whisper, glancing around to see if anyone was listening too closely.

"Apart from a sore head, yes, thanks," Harry replied, grateful for the low tone for completely different reasons. "Thank you for your help."

The child shrugged and added, "I would have stayed last night too, but Hermione said it would be too suspicious."

"She was right," Harry agreed and decided that one too many faces had turned their way, so he began a stroll towards the door, sweeping Jono along with the rest of the group.

"You look rough," the boy observed, wincing for him, and Harry had to grin.

"Well, if anyone asks, I'm starting a cold."

Jono nodded, but as they came to the door, he came to a halt. Harry stopped as well and his young friend looked awkward, before he told him, "It'll probably look even more suspicious if I go to breakfast with you."

The child was right, but Harry was not having that.

"Sod suspicion," he returned, "some things are worth more. You're welcome, if being seen with me won't ruin your cred."

Jono's face lit up and he shook his head furiously.

"Come on then," Harry placed a hand on his friend's shoulder and led him out, knowing that at the very least the gesture was going to make Jono a very popular person for any gossip looking for information, and at best give him a cool that all the first years wanted.

* * *

Breakfast: for Harry it consisted of a dry piece of toast which Hermione had placed in front of him, and at which he had been staring for ages trying to decide whether to attempt it or not. Queasy was putting it mildly when it came to Harry's stomach; he may have emptied it vomiting all night, but the effect of the alcohol was still in his system.

"Go on," Hermione urged quietly, leaning over to him. "People are beginning to stare."

That was nothing new for Harry, everyone had been staring and recording his every move for weeks, but he had to admit that his companion might have a point. Rumours were rife enough, without some bright spark making connections about the way he looked and hangovers. Drinking was not unknown at school, there were ways and means of getting it, but Harry had enough points against him that someone would blab to the wrong person. Reluctantly, he picked up the toast and took a bite out of the corner. It didn't taste of much without butter or some kind of jam, and that was a good thing. The effort to swallow was huge, but Harry managed it. He took a second bite, larger this time, before he could regret the first and then gulped down some water after it. Half the toast was gone before Harry let his stomach catch up with his mouth, and the lurch it gave took him back to the dim memories of the night when his head had been in a bucket.

"Excuse me," he managed politely, too politely and he had all his friends looking at him as he stood up.

Ron looked like he was about to follow suit, but Harry held out his hand and shook his head.

"See you at first lesson," he managed before clamping his mouth shut and then he headed out of the room at the most leisurely pace he could.

As soon as he was out of the door, Harry ran for the nearest loo and threw up the morsel he had eaten. He then sat next to the toilet bowl retching stomach juices until the reaction settled. He was feeling very sorry for himself by the time he gathered enough energy to move again, and then he headed to the water fountain to clear his mouth. His throat and tonsils were hot and sore, and the vomiting had brought out the sensitivity in all his senses a little more. Slowly, Harry made his way back to the tower.

Harry was almost back to his dorm room when his ratty memory reminded him that he had left his homework up in Godric's study. He plodded past his room and on up to the place of refuge. When he reached the door, for the first time ever, Harry had the oddest urge to knock, which he did.

"Come in," Godric's familiar tones greeted him, and Harry opened the door.

His friend was just coming out of his cupboard as Harry crossed to the desk, and he stood there, waiting for Harry to reach him, his look sheepish to say the least.

"Look, Lad," Godric began and Harry could hear an apology coming.

"Wasn't your fault, I'm an adult," Harry countered quickly, trying to smile.

Godric looked a little less guilty, so Harry began to gather up the mess that had been his homework. Luckily none of it was due that day, but he was going to have a busy weekend. However, Godric wasn't finished, and he distracted Harry from the array of parchment and ink blots with his name. His companion was looking serious when Harry stopped what he had started and paid him his full attention.

"You're still a pupil at this school, and as such, I should have been more responsible," Godric barrelled through his apology.

"Okay, think of it this way, I'd never have spoken to Ron again if it hadn't been for you getting me drunk," Harry countered, the bright side a far better prospect that morning than any other. "Has Helga been bending your ear about this?"

"And Rowena, and Salazar," Godric rolled his eyes.

Harry laughed and then regretted it: he sat down rather fast and put his head in his hands as the ache doubled. Harry heard the sound of wood on wood, and when he looked up there were four founders stood on the desk in front of him instead of one, and they were all looking worried.

"Morning," he greeted, trying to sound nonchalant, but it didn't quite come off when he grimaced as the ache became a stabbing pain in his temple for a second.

"Harry, are you alright?" Helga asked anxiously.

"Hangover from hell, but apart from that, I'll be okay, thanks," Harry returned and was finally able to look at his companions directly.

Salazar seemed content with that assurance and his worry disappeared behind a holier-than-thou sneer and he goaded, "Good to see you getting your just desserts, Potter."

Harry focused on Slytherin and cut right through the disdain with, "You remind me a lot of Draco."

Salazar's mouth fell open, and he looked like he was going to protest, but Harry was very satisfied that it took him a full few seconds to even make a sound. Before any uncharacteristic bluster could come his way, Harry continued, "And thank you for making me face my demons."

Being wood-coloured all over, Salazar couldn't blush, but Harry had the feeling that he had embarrassed the normally composed founder. Godric, of course, took full advantage and, hanging an arm round his friend's shoulder, teased, "Well, well, Salazar, doing something good and selfless will sully your reputation."

"Unlike you, where getting a boy drunk is in perfect character," Salazar had a retort for his long-time companion far more readily than for Harry.

"However," Helga interrupted loudly before either of her male friends could start fighting.

Yet there seemed little chance of that to Harry. The pair looked at Helga expectantly: Godric showed no signs of removing his arm, and Salazar seemed perfectly content to be draped by Gryffindor. Still, Helga gave them both a reproving look, just in case, and continued, "It all seems to have worked out for the best."

"My housemates are talking to me again," Harry agreed, "even though I kept them up all night."

"Because you kept them up all night," Rowena corrected. "They had all been worried about you for sometime, but with you Gryffindors, your tempers always get in the way."

The woman glanced at Godric, who just shrugged and continued to lounge on Salazar.

"It's not my temper that's getting in the way with Draco, it's his," Harry slouched back in the chair and stared at the ceiling. "Why do I still care so much about that bastard?"

"Only you can answer that, Harry," Salazar informed him, no hint of snide in his tone.

Harry turned back to the desk again and the look on Slytherin's face was almost serene. He scowled at the gesture he was used to from Dumbledore, but his petulance did not last for long. Harry sighed and informed his companions, "I asked the others to leave Draco to me, but I don't have the faintest idea what to do."

"One step at a time, Harry," Helga replied sagely. "Recover from this little incident first, rely on your friends today, and leave the young Mr Malfoy for another day."

Harry nodded and began to gather up his papers once more, making sure the statues had stepped off them first. As he did so, he felt all eyes on him once more, and he halted again, this time with the parchments scrunched into his hand.

"Harry," Godric began again, and finally let go of Salazar as he stepped forward. "We will always be here if you need us."

The young man looked at the four founders, their faces serious, but caring and knew something was coming to an end. He remembered the knock, and as with everything about Hogwarts since he had realised his closeness to it, his intuition told him exactly what was about to be said.

"But I don't need you anymore now," he finished the sentence. "That's why I knocked."

"You have good insight, Harry," Rowena replied for the refuge guardians, "and you are correct. Once you have gathered your things and left this room, the magic will not allow you re-entry."

"It's out of our hands, My Friend," Godric apologised, looking unhappy.

"Will I see you again outside of here?" Harry asked, mourning the loss of his new friendships, even as he sensed the necessity of leaving the refuge behind.

"From time to time, perhaps," Salazar nodded, and his tone was warm even if he did not smile.

"Thank you all for everything," Harry put off his loss with gratitude.

"Our pleasure, Harry," Helga accepted the thanks gracefully.

"If I'd known this would be the last time, I'd have come later when I didn't have to get ready for lessons," Harry chose to be practical, and packed his things into his school bag before walking over to where he had left the cloak and box of toys.

He gathered everything up and turned back to the desk one last time. His friends were all stood in front of their cupboards. Harry smiled at them and finished, "Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Harry," Helga nodded to him cordially, a smile on her lips but her eyes saying more.

"Goodbye," Rowena curtsied, as elegant and proper as usual: Harry gave her a little bow in return.

"Au revoir, Potter," Salazar nodded curtly, but as before, his tone was warm.

"Goodbye, My Friend," Godric was the only one who sounded emotional, and Harry knew he would be missed; the feeling was mutual.

There was no more time to hang around, and so with a final glance, Harry headed to the door.

* * *

Everyone was thankfully still at breakfast when Harry went into the dorm to put his possessions back in his trunk. However, since removing the secret items, everything in his trunk seemed to have expanded to fit the available space, so Harry had to begin by pulling out some other bits and pieces and rearrange them before there was any room to put the box and cloak back in. Harry had placed the black box down at the bottom of the trunk and was in the middle of rolling up the cloak when he gained company. Harry started as the door opened, and more or less threw the cloak at his trunk, unfortunately, he missed and it ended up draping down the side of the case in full view of Ron. Harry tried to do nonchalant and greeted, "Hi, Ron, what brings you back here?"

However, it was difficult to be easy going when your head was throbbing and you were trying to hide an entire, expensive cloak behind your legs. Ron zeroed in on the article Harry was trying to conceal rather than on the concealment itself and his eyes went wide as he exclaimed, "Wow, Harry, is this yours?"

Harry sat down on his bed and, admitting defeat, let Ron take a closer look.

"No," he admitted, and, waiting for an outburst, continued, "it's Malfoy's."

Ron looked worried and confused at the same time, so Harry hurriedly explained, "He left it at my place, and I brought it to school to give back to him, but there hasn't been a right time. I hid it upstairs in case anyone decided to look in my trunk."

Now Ron was offended, and he charged, "You thought one of us would go sneaking into your trunk?"

"Didn't know what to think," Harry shrugged honestly, and not wishing to dwell on that, rubbed his hand over the cloak and admired, "Wish I could carry off something like this."

Whether Ron took the hint or was honestly diverted by the observation didn't matter, because he pulled it out of the trunk completely and held it up to the sunshine coming through the window.

"Y'know Hermione would kill you if you did buy something like this, it's real fur," Ron sounded envious all the same as he ran his hand over the ermine collar.

Harry sighed, not all because such finery took a bearing he didn't have, but also with the thought of the man he loved who did have such an ability. He stood up, took the loose end of the cloak and requested, "Give us a hand rolling it up."

The rolling up went fine, it was when Harry took the cloak to place into his trunk and Ron followed him that things took another turn. Harry was not fast enough with the cloak to hide the large black box at the bottom of his trunk, and Ron's gasp told Harry that his friend knew exactly what the box represented. Harry sat down on the bed again, the cloak in his lap and let Ron have a good look, at the outside of the box at least.

"Is that?" Ron asked, his cheeks tinging pink.

"From Pandora's Box? Yes," Harry replied openly.

Harry wasn't sure what to expect, but his best friend suddenly going as red as a traffic light was not even one of the possibilities.

"You gave Hermione the massage oil," Ron half accused, and his hand went over his mouth.

At that, Harry smirked.

"What have you been saying to my girlfriend?" Ron demanded, sounding far too unsure of himself to be truly aggressive.

"Nothing bad," Harry assured him, dumping the cloak in the trunk and standing up. "She really loves you, y'know."

"I do know," Ron replied curtly, a bluster not far away, "and she should be telling me that, not you."

Harry had been planning to close his trunk, pick up his books and go, but he didn't want another row developing thanks to Ron's insecurities, so he stopped what he was doing, and looked his best friend directly in the eyes.

"Look, we didn't go out of our way to talk about you, you and she just came up in conversation," Harry explained. "Mainly because Hermione was so worried about us fighting."

That put the kibosh on Ron's temper, and whatever had been about to come out was sealed behind thin lips. He was still frowning, so Harry tried again, "Hermione is my friend as well as your girlfriend. She was concerned about me, and you and a whole lot of other things as well, and so we talked. Yes sex came up from time to time, and yes I gave her the massage oil, but no, she didn't ask for it, I slipped it into her bag, and I hope it helped you two make up."

When Harry finished, his head was pounding and he really wanted to look away from the window which was framing Ron, but he held his companion's gaze, squinting into the light and waited for a reaction. Ron was very physical about his emotions, and his body visibly settled as the tension went away, and Harry forced a smile. Ron didn't quite smile back, but the grimace, which he did manage, Harry took as a positive sign.

"Come on, I'm in no state to run, and we have to get to Charms," Harry broke the moment and finally closed his trunk.  
  



	21. Rock Bottom Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry doesn't understand Draco and it leads him down a path he can't step back from.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [beren_writes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/beren/pseuds/beren), my excellent beta reader

Harry spent the rest of the day curled over one text book or another, trying to focus and not wince every time one of the staff raised their voice. His headache had eased by the end of the day, but he was still feeling rough enough to finally refuse his gang of friends, who had spent the day making sure he got from place to place in one piece and had continued to feed him headache powders and dry bread. Harry's refusal involved going to supper: he had not thrown up any more that day, and had kept down the bread roll from lunch, but he was still feeling delicate enough to cry off dinner and head straight to bed.

The next morning dawned, and although the weather had taken a turn for the worse, lashing rain at the windows and a wind that could have blown a giant off his feet, Harry was feeling much brighter and able to face the world. He woke before everyone else, having gone to bed that much earlier, and he lay in the darkness, listening to the sounds of sleep and looking to the future. Draco still had to be faced, and Harry knew it would mean a confrontation. Admitting to himself that he loved someone who did not love him back had been difficult, but with his friends' support behind him, Harry was gathering the courage to face that kind of future, and to deal with it. Hermione was still worried about him, Harry knew that from the way she had taken him all the way to the bottom of the boy's steps, at which point he had shooed her away as kindly as possible. As much as to stop his friend from fretting as facing his own demons in the flesh, by the time he climbed out of bed, Harry had decided to confront Malfoy that very day.

There was a prefect's meeting that morning, Harry had heard Hermione and Ron discussing it the previous lunch time, so he knew where Malfoy would be, and from all his observations the previous term, Harry knew what route his ex-boyfriend would be taking back from the meeting to the Slytherin dungeon. Harry hid himself in the cupboard that had been one of their regular meeting places and waited for Draco to come by.

It was cold down in this corridor, it being assumed that pupils did not frequent this part of the castle at weekends, and the heating spells had been turned down. Harry wrapped his Gryffindor scarf close round his neck and hugged his arms across the large H on his jumper and began to pace. The meeting ran longer than he anticipated, and he was stamping quite hard to keep warm when Harry finally heard footsteps and froze. He had the door of the store room slightly ajar, and he put his eye to the crack to get a view of the corridor and judge when to grab his opponent. Yet it wasn't to be.

Harry was ready to fly at Draco when he heard a familiar voice.

"Don't walk away from me, Draco Malfoy," Hermione called and then her tone toughened with, "or I will follow you all the way back to the dungeon, and we both know I have rights to go anywhere."

"What do you want, Granger?" Draco sounded exasperated more than anything else, and there was the sound of shoe sliding on stone.

Harry couldn't see much through the crack of the door, only Malfoy's shoulder, since his ex-boyfriend had turned to face back the way he had come, and half of Hermione's face. Draco's arms were folded, and he was slouching on one hip, his head to one side: Harry could imagine the imperious disdain with which he was regarding Hermione. He almost followed an urge to interrupt the conversation before it had begun, but there was a look in Hermione's eyes that told Harry he would not be welcome if he did.

"I want you to leave Harry alone," Hermione began and Harry's heart leapt into his throat.

Malfoy laughed dismissively, but Hermione's gaze remained firm, and shortly he stopped.

"And why would you think that any desire of yours could make me give up my plaything?" Draco sneered back.

"What you're doing is despicable. Don't you care that you are destroying someone's life?"

Harry stopped watching and sunk back against the wall in horror: didn't Hermione know her opponent well enough to realise that appealing to any better nature was pure folly and mere ammunition to Malfoy.

"That's good to know," Malfoy proved him right and Harry closed his eyes, holding back a growl of frustration that would have given his position away. "Feedback is always useful."

"Grow up, Malfoy," Hermione's tone grew harder. "Stop and think about what you are doing for one minute. While we were all more interested in the house cup last year, Harry was risking everything to save our world from chaos. He sacrificed everything so that our generation doesn't have to pick sides and now you're trying to destroy him and create divides."

Draco snorted dismissively and Harry heart sunk further: Hermione was getting nowhere.

"It has never occurred to you that some of us don't agree with your point of view, has it Granger?" the Slytherin sneered.

"This isn't about point of view," Hermione was not giving up. "This is about freedoms, like the right to different opinions without fighting about it. What you are doing is childish and mean, and it's dangerous as well."

This time Malfoy laughed, the upper hand in his sound. Harry gritted his teeth, the harsh end of his ex-lover's nature full in his mind.

"There's nothing childish about what I'm doing," Draco countered, his tone low and menacing; Harry heard leather on stone again, two pairs, and his mind saw Draco step up to Hermione, the way he did when he wanted to personally intimidate.

"The war is over, Draco, don't start it again. If not for Harry then for this world," the plea came tightly from Hermione.

Harry knew his friend was indeed intimidated, he could hear it in her voice, but leaping out from hiding would only give Malfoy more ammunition, and Harry couldn't bare that, so he continued to listen.

"The war is not over, Granger, it has only just begun," Malfoy growled. "Voldemort will have a successor and the dark will be powerful again. You don't understand what Harry was to me, do you?"

Silence, and Harry held his breath, knowing the worst was yet to come.

"At first, he was a diversion, a challenge, something to flex my skills. Then I have to admit, he surprised me, I never thought I'd be able to seduce him quite so easily," Draco chuckled and Harry's spirits hit bottom. "He's a good lay, you ought to try him."

Hermione's sound of disgust degraded Harry more than Draco's disdain.

"You Gryffindors can be so easy to manipulate, and I did enjoy him, but now I have other priorities," Draco sounded almost whimsical about the choices he was making, and every word sliced a little more from Harry's ego. "Destroying him, as you put it, is just too easy an opportunity to pass up, and a fitting end to our sordid little affair."

Hermione said no more, and into the silence, Harry heard the tread of boot: Draco was walking away from more than he knew. Shortly, Hermione's lighter tread also led off at a much slower pace and Harry listened to the echoes of the footfalls die away. Yet as silence fell, the distraction went away and all Harry's thoughts centred around the conversations he had just heard. Part of him had been hoping for a reconciliation, a rediscovery of the connection that he had made with Draco, but any hope had been destroyed. The dream was in pieces along with his ego, and Harry couldn't control the pain with logic anymore. Malfoy had been more than clear about his intentions, past and present, and they made Harry feel sick. He was a game to a psychopath, nothing more, and there was nothing left with which he could fight. His friends were not enough, Malfoy would destroy them too simply because they sided with Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived. Harry Potter had to go.

Harry yanked open the door, slamming it against the wall and ran for the nearest castle exit. It wasn't far, and as he reached the door he pulled off his scarf: no more Gryffindor. He ripped off his Quidditch Captain's badge as well: he stood for nothing. The 'H' on his jumper was too obvious, so Harry scrabbled to take off the sweater, breathing hard as he dropped it into the pile of the possessions that no longer belonged to him. His eyes were hot and stinging, misting over with tears as Harry reached for the door handle. Yet as he took hold of the handle, he heard the sound of the lock click shut: he pulled on the door, a panic beginning in his chest, mixing the hurt, but the panel stayed shut.

"What do you think you are doing, Potter?" the second to last voice Harry wanted to hear asked.

Harry froze, his hand still on the door handle, not wanting to turn and face Severus Snape.

"Going for a walk, Sir," he growled back, trying to keep his voice steady.

"The weather is not conducive to your attire. Return to your dorm and collect a coat if you wish to be so foolhardy," the professor ordered.

"No!" Harry snarled and pulled at the door again: he needed to get out.

"Potter, what is the matter with you?" Snape sounded bounden to be responsible, and that just made Harry more desperate.

He put both hands on the ring that controlled the door's lock and pulled with all his weight.

"Unlock this door," he demanded, the panic and the pain rising in tandem.

"That would not be wise, Harry," the teacher sounded so absurdly calm, and even a little caring.

Snape addressing him by his first name would have made Harry suspicious under any other circumstances, but here and now, they both knew what was going on. Harry was breaking.

"I have to go," he told the world loudly and desperately, and then his magic rushed to his assistance.

He had been so distracted by his emotions that Harry had not even noticed his fingers begin to itch, but they did their job and the door flew open with a loud ripping sound. Harry stumbled backwards a few paces, falling to his knees, but the pelting rain outside was where he wanted to be, so he scrabbled up again almost instantly. He could hear Snape approaching rapidly behind him: he would not be stopped. Harry made a sprinting start out of the door just as Snape's shadow fell across him.

* * *

He ran through the icy rain, not really seeing where he was going, but acting purely on the instinct to escape everything that he had been. He was nameless now, a boy with a damaged hand and a scar on his forehead, nothing to anybody. The storm would take it all away, and he ran towards the lightening that sliced down and hit the Quidditch Stadium. Yet he didn't stop at the place that had once meant so much to him, he dashed past it; the place held another's victories now, not his, and it meant nothing.

He ducked behind the large structure, using it to shield him from the great looming castle that dominated everything in its vicinity, and still he ran, on towards the wall. He slammed in to the tall stonework, using it to slow his momentum, and his legs gave out. His heart thundering in his chest, his vision blurred by tears and rain and his grief making him weak, he collapsed at the foot of the wall and sobbed.

Nameless and soulless, he hid his face from the windows of the castle, that, despite his best efforts, watched him relentlessly. His sobbing did not last for long: he was too tired of it all, the hurt and the confusion, and he let the ice in the rain send his body numb while he tried to make his mind do the same. Only the storm mattered: the wind whipped at his unprotected body, taking his memories away with it, and the rain soaked his thin clothing, turning him to ice. He slumped against the wall and gave in to the power around him.

* * *

"Mate?" a voice tried to drag him out of his catatonia, but he didn't want to come, associations and responsibilities went with that voice. Yet it grew more personal with, "Harry, Mate, you in there?"

Harry had to move as his denial failed him. He turned his head a little, his muscles cold and stiff and glanced sideways at Ron. He didn't look properly, so all he saw was a water-proofed outline, and then he went back to staring at the grey stone of the wall. Ron must have taken the acknowledgement as a positive sign, because he came in closer, kneeling down and Harry started violently as cloth was draped over his shoulders.

"Say something, Mate?" Ron urged from under a heavy hood.

"Go away," Harry whispered, huddling into the warmth of a cloak, which Ron continued to arrange over his shoulders none-the-less, and shivering as the contrast told him of the chill in his body.

"You can't stay out here, Harry, you'll catch your death," Ron was choosing to be practical, but Harry wasn't feeling practical at all.

"Better than going back in there," he glanced over his shoulder at the place he wouldn't name.

Ron paused at that, the shadows across his face making him look much older than his years, and he was frowning heavily.

"Look, Professor Snape came to our common room to get me about you. I thought I was for the high jump until he told me he'd seen you come out here. Now he's expecting me to return you to the tower safe and sound and I really will be for the high jump if I go back without you," now Ron tried to be reasonable.

Harry wasn't feeling reasonable either: he was at the end of his tether and he wanted out.

"I heard what he said to Hermione. That wasn't games just for me, that was the truth. I can't go back," he admitted honestly, expressing a little of the difficult emotions he was containing. "I can't face him again. No more."

"I'll get that bloody Slytherin expelled for this if I have to," Ron growled, reasonable going out of the window and his own emotions coming through.

Harry laughed, a pathetic little sound against the wind and the rain, but Ron heard it and the hands holding Harry's shoulders tensed.

"You'd have to prove he'd actually done something wrong first, and you'll never do that," the beaten youth mourned.

"Come on, Harry," Ron sounded like he was going to give a pep talk: he was. "There's no way this is as bad as Voldemort."

"I asked for out there too," Harry confessed the guilt that had been with him since Sirius' death. "Only there wasn't one."

"Isn't here either," his friend seemed to have finished on brutal honesty. "It's going back there or freezing to death, and if you are staying out here, then so am I."

A guilt trip was about the only thing that could have made it past Harry's flight-wish, and he knew his companion was not joking about standing by him.

"Don't make me," he begged, desperate not to go back.

"We're standing up and we are walking back into the castle," Ron ordered, and began hauling Harry to his feet. "After that you can run back to your cottage and hide for the rest of your life if you want to."

The derision barely registered with Harry, he had no ego left to bruise. Still, he accepted his own everyday cloak round his shoulders properly and allowed himself to be steered back towards Hogwarts.

* * *

They hadn't spoken all the way back to the castle, but in Ron's company Harry was feeling saner and braver by the time he reached the protective walls. Ron had found them a quiet entrance, and Harry came to a halt in the warmth of the small corridor. His cloak was soaked through, much like the rest of him, and he pulled off the heavy material more as a mechanism for allowing his thoughts to form properly than the need to remove it.

"Thank you," he looked across at his best friend, who was removing his own cloak and watching him cautiously.

"Are you staying or leaving?" Ron challenged as Harry let him know coherence had returned.

Harry shrugged: his future was anything but clear as his emotions sat just below a calmer surface. Ron nodded at that and took charge again with, "Alright, for now, you're staying, so let's get you in front of a warm fire."

Harry accepted the strength of purpose Ron offered and followed as his companion led off. He was exhausted and cold and beyond thinking about anything but the immediate. He felt safe in his friend's company and he mainly turned his brain off again, preferring that to thinking.

With his head down, Harry kept an eye on where they were going only by the direction of Ron's feet. They passed people, and he knew they were staring at their favourite centre of attention, but he ignored them. Harry concentrated on how cold he was and the prospect of a warm fire, and ignoring everything else was easy until he heard the one voice he never wanted to hear again.

"What do we have here, People?" Malfoy sneered and Harry tensed.

"Keep moving, ignore him," Ron hissed, falling in beside Harry, who obeyed him.

Harry hadn't noticed before, but they were in the atrium outside the Great Hall and the stairs were only feet away, but it was nearly lunch time and there were students beginning to gather from all directions. Malfoy wasn't finished, and from his left, Harry heard footsteps coming towards them.

"Is it a drowned rat?" his enemy taunted, but Harry kept walking, putting his head down once more and relying on Ron to clear his way. "Oh no, it's Potter. What happened to you: a little rape crisis?"

Harry froze with his foot on the first stair, not quite believing what he was hearing. His sense of decency denied that even Malfoy was capable of pushing his jeers as far as Aleyn de la Folle. However, reality sliced through Harry like a slow razor as the words made sense and he knew very well that Malfoy had finally worked out why the mention of their ex-teacher bothered him so much. Self-protection kicked in, and pain boiled into anger.

"Mate, come on," Ron tried, but his tone said he had noted the change in Harry.

Put upon and humiliated, Harry turned and faced his tormentor, rage racing through his veins and his magic following. Yet, he felt his fingers burn more than itch and he held the power in check, forcing it to stay under his skin. Malfoy was stood only a few feet away, slouching as he had that morning, grinning at his own success. For Harry, the world focused down on Malfoy and nothing else mattered.

"How dare you?" he demanded loudly, dropping his cloak and stalking over to his enemy. "Life isn't some kid's game."

Malfoy's grin stayed in place, a look of triumph in his eyes as his supposed prey was reeled in. Yet Harry was no prey, his fury turned him into the hunter and he continued hotly, "People have feelings, they are not pawns to be shoved around some chessboard in your mind. What you do, everything you do affects someone else's life. Have you no idea what you're doing?"

Malfoy's grin had faded as Harry's ire became apparent, and he was standing straight now, defying him, but Harry looked into grey eyes and saw cracks of disquiet.

"You're just a spoilt kid," Harry accused, and was satisfied with the ruffle that caused in his centre of attention, but he did not allow any comeback, he barrelled on with. "You just play games, all the time, nothing is real to you. You have no concept of what it means to really hurt, like losing someone forever."

"Back off, Potter," Malfoy was clearly on the defensive and Harry took full advantage of the tables turning, stepping right up to his opponent.

There were other people close by, Slytherins by the colours that flicked past the edges of Harry's vision, but no-one interfered.

"What's the matter, Malfoy, don't like it when someone has a go at you?" Harry taunted this time, not really enjoying it, but finding a sense of right in the wide, angry, but helpless stare that came back at him.

"Trying to play, Potter?" his adversary snarled back at him, but it was he who was trying to keep up with the rage in Harry, who gave him no chance to catch up.

"The only place I play games is on the Quidditch pitch," Harry told Malfoy, biting his words off into a crisp upper hand. "I don't need games to make my life worthwhile: I have real friends and a real life."

"You're cracking up," Malfoy tried to be demeaning, but without the edge Harry now knew he had given him, his opponent did not seem so in control.

Harry laughed, a short sound that ended quickly and he accused, "Me cracking up? That's a joke. You're the one who has to be falling apart inside to have done all this just to protect yourself from looking at your own life."

Harry knew he had been a diversion from Malfoy's own troubles, he had known and had not wanted to use that knowledge up till that moment. He saw the tinge of fear in his adversary, and he had no pity or concern for it anymore: Harry went for the jugular.

"Now why would you not want to look at your own life?" he asked, poising his body imperceptibly as he goaded the anger he could see through Malfoy's eyes.

Harry's magic was running close to the surface, he could feel it as clearly as if he were casting. It was under control, perfect control and waiting for his leave. He wanted to use it. Malfoy was not far from the edge, and in the back of his mind, Harry was a little surprised at how easy it had been to drag out the opposing fury in his ex-boyfriend.

"You've really made a mess of things, haven't you, Malfoy?" he tormented with a fervour that would not be denied. "But then, why did I expect any less. You're in denial, Malfoy, you just can't see it, can you?"

At that, his enemy looked confused, and a little scared: Harry smiled through his teeth and drove his message home with, "You did all this just to avoid admitting the fact that your father's a madman!"

Harry was watching for the minutest of reactions from his adversary, and he saw every word hitting home. Malfoy's eyes widened and his face opened with shock at the direct jibe, and for a second, Harry saw a flash of pain streak through the pointed features opposite. Yet, then those same grey eyes narrowed in almost immediate, protective anger, the like of which he knew very well, and he knew before Malfoy was moving that he had succeeded in pulling his opponent into the want that had been under his skin all the time: the fight.

Malfoy drew his wand faster than most could have followed, but Harry saw and backed rapidly off a couple of paces and poised himself. He did not bother with a spell, he lifted his right arm above his head, his fingers bent like he was about to claw out Malfoy's eyes, and raw magic sparked between them. He held his left arm in front of him as he had through all his Auror practice with the Machina Martialis, and felt his shield slide into place with very little effort. He watched Malfoy's hand glide through the air like everything was in slow motion, and he was more than ready when his enemy cast the first spell.

This was the duelling the combatants were used to, no rules, no holds barred and usually no witnesses. Yet this time, as Malfoy's spell became visible when it bounced harmlessly off Harry's shield, Harry heard screaming and the scuffling of bodies as the ricochet hit ground a few feet to his side. The rest of the world was far away: Harry was aware their fight had started a commotion, but all he cared about was Draco Malfoy, who fired off another spell at him on the tail of the first.

His shield could take a pounding in one go, but Harry discovered that it did not recover quickly; when the second attack hit the defence, which was still dissipating the previous spell, the curse broke through his shield and it's power sliced up his arm. He cried out in pain as sharp points of agony dug into his flesh all along his bare forearm and blood flowed out of numerous tiny gashes. Harry staggered backwards with the shock, but let fly with his own assault as he did so. He wanted his opponent to see the attack, and the magic sparked like lightening as it sailed towards Malfoy's head.

The raw power missed as it was side-stepped, sailing past Malfoy's shoulder and blasting something inanimate into a thousand pieces with a crack that could have been heard right across the castle. Harry was satisfied when Malfoy cringed away from the explosion, but he held his guard, because he knew his opponent well enough to know a little noise would not throw him off. Ignoring the prickles of pain all over his arm, Harry held it up again and decided a little casting was in order.

Harry wanted to do damage, make his adversary suffer, so he chose a spell that spoke of such a revenge.

"Praefervida acus!" he cast and a hundred tiny glowing pieces of metal shot from his palm at Malfoy's body.

Malfoy was not altogether quick enough this time, and Harry watched and smiled as the dive into which his enemy rolled to get away did not save his leg from a dozen of the burning needles. Malfoy landed heavily, winded by a difficult landing and clearly in pain. Harry hadn't finished though, and he raised his hand for another strike.

"Harry, no!" Ron's voice made it into Harry's world only because his friend grabbed his wrist and pulled him out of the cast.

Harry growled a warning at his friend, in no mood to be coherent about the fact that his quarry was regrouping. Ron took no notice, and was clearly looking for some kind of positive response to his interruption. Harry bared his teeth and took advantage of the trust in Ron as he twisted his wrist out of the hold and shoved his friend away. Ron fell backwards and Harry turned back to the fight.

Malfoy was on his feet again, in pain, resting most of his weight on his right leg and his jeans were singed where the hot metal had sliced through the thigh, but he was still moving and in the middle of a cast. Harry didn't hear what the spell was, so he countered with raw magic, pushing it out of his body right at the hex. The movement echoed the demonstration duel of the previous term, but now Harry had learnt separation, and the power met between the two combatants, cracking and sparking like a miniature lightening storm without connecting back to either wizard.

Harry knew the explosion was coming, and he lifted his arm to protect his face as the wave of air scattered magic in all directions for a metre or so. There was screaming again and a smell of burning, but neither fighter cared, they were both poised for another attack before the bright sparks and smoke had dispersed. Harry stood in his duelling stance, his casting arm above his head, his other arm the source for his shield, and narrowed his focus back to his adversary; Malfoy also held himself ready to be lethal.

"Expelliarmus!" the call came from either side at once and converged on Malfoy.

Harry would have taken full advantage as Malfoy's wand went flying out of his hand and he fell to his knees with the impact of two disarming spells, but Ron grabbed him, forcing his arms to his sides and very nearly lifting him off the ground as he struggled. Ron was much bulkier than Harry, and with the advantage of coming from behind, his friend could more than hold him physically, but Harry felt his magic rise to assist him.

As McGonagall and Hermione appeared from either side of his vision, Harry let his magic run over as well as under his skin. Ron grunted, but his grip tightened around Harry's chest. He was told bluntly, "Keep doing that and I'll break a few ribs."

Ron had very strong arms and breathing became rapidly more difficult for Harry. He could have increased the discomfort his magic was causing, but a little sanity told him that it was his best friend who had hold of him, and coupled with the fact that his opponent was on the floor nursing his hand, Harry relaxed both his body and his magic.

Hermione still had her wand trained on Draco and Professor McGonagall was watching Harry intently, her aim no less true.

"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded.

Neither combatant replied, they just glared at each other. For Harry, coherency was not possible now that his rage had boiled over into hatred. If Ron had let go, he would have flown at Malfoy again, and his anger bubbled over in the occasional strain he tried to put on the clamp around his torso. Malfoy seemed equally unwilling to speak, his eyes flashing with the fight that had been interrupted. McGonagall looked from one to the other, keeping her wand trained on Harry as she did so.

"Have you nothing to say?" she asked for an explanation again.

Silence, and the deputy head looked around the room; so did Harry. There were a lot of pupils stood around, agape at the scene before them. Some looked like they had been caught in the edges of the battle and there were black marks on the stairs and floor.

"Mr Zabini," McGonagall summoned the Slytherin out of the crowd; as he stepped forward, she instructed, "Escort Mr Malfoy to the sick bay, have Madame Pomfrey treat him and confine him to one of the isolation rooms."

The woman then turned to Harry, but she looked over his head and told Ron, "You as well, please, Ron, a second isolation room for Mr Potter." Professor McGonagall then told both fighters, "We shall discuss this when you have both calmed down."

Withdrawing her aim, and with a clap of her hands, the formidable teacher then shooed everyone on their way. Hermione finally lowered her wand when Blaise took charge of Malfoy, helping him to his feet, but keeping a hold on his arm. It was then, accompanied by a Slytherin second year, Snape came running up the steps from the dungeon level, an uncharacteristic look of shock on his face.

"What is going on?" he also made the demand.

McGonagall waved Blaise off as he paused at the arrival, but she held up her hand to Ron and told him, "Wait a few moments until Mr Malfoy is gone."

Harry did not want to let his opponent leave, the fight was still coursing through his veins and he wanted to do damage. Ron's hold tightened again as Harry followed the exit with a hunter's interest, but he was taking no hints.

"Do not even think it, Mr Potter," McGonagall warned, reading him very well. "I am well aware I may not disarm you as we have done with Mr Malfoy, but make one move to cast and I will drop you where you stand."

At the threat, there were rumbles of shock from the pupils who had not made it out of the lobby into the main hall, but Harry just glared at his tutor. She stared right back and he had no doubt that the woman meant what she said. There was still something in Harry that acknowledged Professor McGonagall's authority, and eventually, he looked away.

"Go, Ron," was the only response.  
  



	22. Retribution Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco is vulnerable - it is Harry's turn to be cruel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [beren_writes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/beren/pseuds/beren), my excellent beta reader

Harry paced up and down at the end of the bed in the little room where Ron had left him a few minutes earlier. Madame Pomfrey had taken one look at him, told him she would be back after she had dealt with Malfoy and then locked the door. His adversary was just next door, and Harry strained to see if he could hear any screaming as his needle spell was removed, but the rooms had thick walls and he could hear nothing but his own rapid breathing. He hadn't calmed down: his magic was still prickling close to the surface and he rubbed his palms down his damp jeans, but he did not fear his own control anymore. Pure rage had given him the key to his magic, and Harry came to a halt as his wizard's heartbeat ran through him. He closed his eyes, centring on the exhilaration of being so close to his power. He could have blown a hole in the wall, taken on his opponent once more, but he was still freezing, his arm was hurting, the rest of his body was aching and the physical beat down the magical to sane levels.

Harry's eyes snapped open as he heard the lock of his door being drawn back, and he was glaring at the entrant before he laid eyes on Madame Pomfrey carrying a pair of pyjama bottoms, a t-shirt, a towel and a hot water bottle. She stopped just inside the room and echoed Professor's McGonagall's kind of authority, telling him plainly, "Unless you wish to be suffering from pneumonia by tomorrow morning, you will dry off, change into these clothes and get into bed with this hot water bottle."

The nurse handed him the pyjamas and towel, which Harry took grudgingly, and then she placed the bottle in his bed.

"Ring the bell by the bed when you are ready and I will see to your arm," she finished, and then was gone again.

The matter-of-factness knocked the stuffing out of Harry, and he did as he was told. He pulled off his rain-drenched clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor, dried himself with the towel and pulled on the other clothes. His body if not his mind was grateful for a soft bed, and Harry relaxed a few moments against pillows, which he had arranged to support a sitting position, before he rang the bell.

The response was not immediate, but within a few minutes, the matron appeared again. This time she was carrying a steaming cup in one hand, which she placed on the bedside table and ignored, and a thermometer in the other, which, sitting down on the edge of the bed, she then held out and requested, "Open your mouth, please."

Harry again obeyed and once his lips were clamped around the glass instrument, he was told more gently, "Now, let me look at you arm."

The cuts were stinging still, and Harry knew it was no simple laceration curse that was making the rest of him ache as well.

"Do you know what hit you?" Madame Pomfrey asked with some disapproval, examining his arm closely.

Harry shook his head.

Madame Pomfrey ran her wand over his arm and muttered something complicated under her breath and Harry winced as the discomfort all over his body increased for a moment; the cuts also sizzled and gave off an orange glow, but there was no heat. Harry had experienced very similar investigations when he had been at St Mungo's after his defeat of Voldemort. They had been necessary to assess what magic had caused the damage to his body, since not all of it had been the exploding wand, but needed or not, they still made his stomach turn. Madame Pomfrey removed the thermometer from his mouth in the nick of time, just before he was about to bite down on it reactively.

"Well, I can treat the hex easily, but you must keep warm and dry tonight, Harry, or I fear your temperature will be rising considerably more than it is at the moment."

Harry didn't say anything, he was not feeling talkative. He winced again when another spell was cast at him, but he felt a lot better afterwards: the aching had diminished and his cuts were just a little sore. He relaxed back into the pillows and found himself being handed the hot cup of what his nose told him was cocoa.

"Thank you," he managed thinly and took a sip.

"My goodness, he talks," Madame Pomfrey chided lightly.

Harry just looked at her and sipped again. The woman sobered from her attempt at levity and asked in a lower tone, "Harry, both Ron and Professor Snape have informed me that you were in quite a state, do you wish to talk with someone about it?"

Harry shook his head rapidly and then took another sip of the cocoa in preference to biting his lip. He didn't want to deal with what lay below his anger.

"Alright, then I have been told to inform you that the incident involving you and Mr Malfoy is being reviewed at the highest level of the school. It is a very serious matter and is not being treated lightly, therefore you will remain here under my supervision until at least tomorrow when a decision will have been made over what actions should be taken against both of you."

Harry just nodded to acknowledge that he had heard, but he wasn't interested in Hogwarts' rules or how many he had broken. Madame Pomfrey accepted his silence and stood up.

"Do you want any lunch?" she asked as she walked to the door.

Harry shook his head and forced out, "No thank you."

"Then try and sleep," she advised, and then his carer was gone.

Harry finished the cocoa, and trying not to think too much and forcing his magic to settle away to imperceptible levels, he lay down and did as he was told.

* * *

Harry slept all day, and after a few bites of supper that Madame Pomfrey brought on a tray, he slept through the evening and the night as well. Still, he woke early, about 5am by the clock on the wall and Harry curled onto his side, hugging the ever-hot water bottle and let the time run by in the peace of his prison cell. Harry was under no illusions: he was probably going to be expelled, but it was a far away thought, where most of his emotions and thoughts were being held. Everything was veiled by the anger that wouldn't go away. He didn't want to kill Malfoy now, but the memory of the supercilious bastard made Harry want to do him harm in other ways. The revenge he contained was anything but cold, it made his magic rush through him, waking every fibre, but that power was contained now, like everything else behind rage masquerading as self-possession. Malfoy would pay, slowly.

The calm young man ate all the breakfast that was put in front of him, and obeyed his healer and gaoler to the letter. He was provided with some of his own clothes and access to the nearest bathroom to get ready, and by 9am, Harry was waiting for an escort to Dumbledore's office. He was surprised when it was Ron who arrived, and it must have showed in the way Harry stood up and stared at the prefect's badge, which was being displayed prominently on his friend's jumper.

"You going to give me any trouble?" Ron asked suspiciously.

"No," Harry returned, his surprise dissipating and everything settling back behind his mask of composure.

"Come on then," Ron instructed and led the way back out of the room.

They didn't speak all the way, but Harry was rather glad: Ron needed to be official and he needed to sort his head out. He didn't know what the next few minutes would contain, but he was determined not to lose his head again; he had rattled Malfoy, he had the edge now and he was not going to drop it. Harry was on alert, watching and observing everything by the time he walked into Dumbledore's office. The Headmaster was sat behind his desk, Professors McGonagall and Snape standing either side of him. Malfoy was already there, next to Zabini facing the desk and Harry took up a place shoulder to shoulder with his enemy. He stayed very calm on the surface, knowing he was also being observed closely for any sign of the destructive urges of yesterday.

Dumbledore's face was grave as he looked from youth to youth; Harry looked directly back at him, neutral as he could be, but he had noted on his way in that Malfoy's head was down, eyes on the floor.

"Harry, Draco," Dumbledore drew the meeting to order and Harry caught a sharp movement as Malfoy looked up.

He could also hear rapid breathing from his opponent.

"I hope I do not need to explain to you why you are here," the ancient wizard fixed both youths with his stare and even behind his façade, Harry felt his feet root to the floor. "Yesterday's incident was not only a breach of school rules the like of which Hogwarts has never before seen, but the pair of you seem to have lost all sense of responsibility. You wilfully endangered yourselves and everyone else around you. It was mere fortune that prevented a disaster."

Harry had not been thinking about anyone else since his fury had erupted, and the mention of the screaming, which he had only half heard yesterday, dented his composure a little. Dumbledore saw it and his gaze rested on Harry a moment before he continued, "There are only two reasons why both of you are not being summarily expelled from this school."

Harry heard an out-rush of breath from Malfoy at that decision: Malfoy cared about staying at school, it was something to file away and use against his adversary.

"Firstly, Miss Granger pleaded for you both, pointing out that you each are dealing with very difficult times in your lives. This does not however excuse your behaviour," Dumbledore continued, his voice booming with authority. "The second and more compelling reason is that in consultation with your tutors, I have decided that Hogwarts is the best and safest place for you during these dangerous periods of your lives."

Silence fell for a moment, a deliberate pause to allow him to think, but Harry wasn't really thinking about his behaviour, he was considering how best to deal with his enemy in the confines of the school. Still, the headmaster pinned him down with a heavy gaze in his turn and Harry was forced back to the present.

"From this moment on, your positions in this school and the rights and privileges that accompany them are suspended. Mr Zabini will be taking over your prefect's post, Draco. Harry, Ginny Weasley will replace you as Gryffindor Quidditch Captain."

That was meant to sting, but Harry had already calculated for such a move. It would probably hurt later, but for now he noted out of the corner of his eye that Malfoy dropped his gaze to the floor once more.

"Whether your teams lose their seekers as well will be decided by the outcome of the next week," Dumbledore pressed on, his stare when it rested on Harry not happy at all. "You are being given a second chance to earn your places at this school, Gentlemen, and I hope you take it. Your time will be strictly controlled and neither of you will cast any magic other than when you are instructed to do so. When you are not following these schedules," he pointed to two pieces of parchment on the desk, "you will be confined to either your dorms or the library.

You will report to Professor McGonagall's office before breakfast tomorrow morning. There you will be bound together such that one may not stray more than a metre from the other. This binding will not be removed until after supper. You will spend each day next week under such conditions and our hope is that you will learn to tolerate each other."

Malfoy was standing straighter again, but Harry guessed it was not from higher spirits, but more abhorrence. Harry, however, was beginning to see a chance for hours of revenge being placed in his lap. Snape was eyeing him suspiciously, but Harry ignored him. McGonagall also watching him was more of a concern: if she suspected anything, she could interfere. Harry set his features and kept his attention on Dumbledore, who glanced from one to the other of his subjects and continued, "Harry you will forgo your Freehand training in order that Draco may attend his Arithmancy classes and you will both take your meals at the Hufflepuff table."

All Harry thought about that decision was that Professor Sprout had to have drawn the short straw.

"As well as toleration, our aim is to teach you co-operation," the Headmaster lectured, and Harry bit his tongue in order to prevent any sign of the disdain such flawed hope conjured in him. "After supper each evening next week, you will both report to one of the teachers you each hold in common as listed on the timetable. They will set you both a task, one that must be completed together.

In the coming days, each of you will be heavily reliant on the other. If one of you does not perform your tasks, or behaves badly, it will reflect on the pair of you. If you fail, you will not re-earn your places at this school and you will both be expelled. I will emphasise this point, the action of one will be treated as the action of both. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir," Malfoy replied almost instantly, his voice thin and concerned.

"Yes, Sir," Harry replied more slowly, using a flat tone to conceal his relish at the perfect opportunity for torturing Malfoy that had been devised for him.

"And one final task," Dumbledore added, leaning over his desk. "Observe each other closely. You will each be expected to write an essay on the other and have it to Professor McGonagall by the Friday of the week following this coming one.

Now, do you have anything you wish to say?"

Dumbledore sat back and looked at the pair expectantly. Harry really didn't have any comment he wished to make. Malfoy, however, diplomat in the making, said quietly, "Thank you, Sir."

"Do not disappoint me, Draco," the headmaster spoke personally and with a softer tone.

The eyes that then came to rest of him told Harry he was being examined closely. All his teachers were watching him. Harry remained silent, and eventually he saw the disappointment enter Dumbledore's eyes.

"Alright then. Take you schedules and for today, you will return to the infirmary rooms and reflect on your positions. Ron and Blaise will collect you this evening so you may sleep in your dorms."

* * *

It was silence all the way back to the infirmary once more, but as he was about to close the door on Harry, Ron paused and caught his eye, offering, "I'm sorry about this, Mate."

Harry grinned and let out a little of the expectation he had for the coming week with, "I'm not. Malfoy's going to have a hell of a week."

His friend looked shocked, and then angry.

"And to think Hermione begged them not to expel you," Ron chided and then slammed the door.

* * *

The next day dawned without Harry's consent. He had not slept nearly so well as the previous night, his dreams being plagued with dark images some of them being the most intensely sexual fantasies that Harry had ever experienced. Only Ron ripping back his curtains and yelling at him to get out of bed got him moving. He arrived at Professor McGonagall's door with only seconds to spare according to the timetable which he had in his pocket, and both his head of house and Malfoy were waiting for him. The professor did not bother with niceties: there was a metre rule on the floor, and she indicated Harry to one end and Malfoy to the other. She then raised her wand and cast, "Iungo!"

Harry didn't hear or see anything, but his magic shifted, and so did Malfoy's if the intake of breath was anything to go by. McGonagall then went to her desk and picked up a wand, which she handed to Malfoy.

"No unauthorised magic," she warned, her tone stern and proper.

"No, Professor," Malfoy returned earnestly.

That seemed to satisfy the woman about the Slytherin, but when she turned to Harry her face darkened once more. Harry knew there had to have been more conversations about him the day before, and his cool-cat attitude was clearly not going down well, but he had no other, so he just met his tutor's gaze.

"Harry, I want your word you will not cast or intentionally use your Freehand magic when unsupervised," Professor McGonagall requested, watching his face closely.

"I promise," Harry replied: there were plenty of other ways to torture Malfoy.

His examiner seemed less satisfied with Harry than she had been with Malfoy, who was doing a wonderful impression of remorse, but that's all it was, an impression, Harry had no doubt the consummate actor was performing his socks off.

"Right, now both of you, straight to breakfast," the woman dismissed.

Malfoy went first, heading quickly into the corridor, but Harry followed him at a far more leisurely pace. He felt a tug on his torso, and when he left the room, his enforced companion was glowering impatiently. Harry just smiled superiorly and strolled past. Another slight tug as he continued on his way and shortly Malfoy caught up with him. He kept his eyes forward, even though he could feel his adversary's gaze on him, and said nothing. The move forced the first word from Malfoy, who asked aggressively, "Well, what do you intend, Potter?"

Harry smiled again: he was in charge. He didn't answer immediately, he pushed the moment until he was prompted again, "Well?"

They were out of earshot of the office, so Harry came to a halt and turned to face his enemy. He didn't give anything away, in fact he had no intention of answering Malfoy, at least not directly.

"You have made my life hell, do you really think that I'm going to let you off the hook that easily? You can squirm there," Harry told his opponent plainly. "I may decide I want to stay here, I may not, at the moment, that decision hangs in the balance."

"You want to be an Auror, you want to pass your exams as much as I do," Malfoy challenged and only succeeded in confirming Harry's belief that he wished to stay at the school.

Harry crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes, the effect of which was to shut Malfoy up. He paused in that moment, revelling in the upper hand, and then let out a little of the fire that was in his belly as he growled, "I've been reassessing things a lot lately. You don't want to find out how far I'm willing to go to make you suffer."

With that, Harry turned on his heel and stalked off: he didn't have to feel the tug this time, Malfoy followed him fairly instantly.  
  



	23. Revenge: Day One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry begins to make Draco pay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [beren_writes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/beren/pseuds/beren), my excellent beta reader

Two angry-looking young men walking into a room would not normally be enough to bring it to silence, but it appeared the whole school was now acquainted with at least part, if not all of the elaborate proving ground that had been created for Harry and Draco. All eyes were on the pair as Harry led the way towards the Hufflepuff table. He did his best to ignore the attention, but there was so much of it, most of it wary, that it worked its way under his skin, and he sat rapidly down on the end of the unfamiliar table. Malfoy went round the other side, and was more graceful, but no less rapid in taking a seat. The Hufflepuffs were all jammed up the other end of the table, forcing a gap of about a metre between their guests and a few brave seventh years, who had made a barrier for the rest of their house. Harry just glared at his companion, using his animosity to distract him from the prickling of his neck, which had become a familiar feeling over the last few weeks: Malfoy glared back.

Slowly activity began again, as not even dangerous wizards could keep a hungry school from its breakfast. Harry helped himself to a large bowl of porridge, while Malfoy went for toast, but neither youth ate very much. They did not speak to each other, nor did they communicate with anyone outside their metre of animosity, they merely glared at each other. Harry spent most of his time formulating ideas on how to make his enemy squirm on his hook some more, a smile playing at the corner of his lips when a particularly nasty thought came to mind. This behaviour seemed to unnerve Malfoy, which was a bonus, and Harry quite liked the way he was being observed closely by his opponent.

Harry was a little horny and very pleased with himself when he decided to interrupt Malfoy's breakfast, such as it was, by standing up, picking up his book bag and preparing to leave the room. Malfoy was trying to take a drink of tea at the time, and Harry quickly hit the metre radius that held them together. He turned and looked at his companion, raising an eyebrow that dared Malfoy to defy him. The warning had done its job, however, and with a scowl that could have turned a cloud black with thunder, the Slytherin slammed down his mug and gathered his things.

Not a word had been said between the two, but Harry knew people were watching, and some had noted the change in dynamics, not least of whom was Professor Dumbledore. Silence fell again as the pair left the hall.

* * *

Lessons that day were fractious to say the least: Malfoy had not lost all of his bite, and the pair argued about most subjects. Harry didn't have time to feel sorry for Neville, who, having been his partner all term, was left with Blaise or Pansy in most classes, because he spent most of his time trying to convince Malfoy that the Slytherin wasn't always right. Academically speaking, Malfoy was a good deal quicker and more knowledgeable than Harry in many fields, and was not trying to be helpful when he sped ahead in their practicals. However, Harry had the threat of expulsion as reigns and hauled his partner to a stop repeatedly. He was forced to ask his companion to explain what he was doing several times, and Malfoy was a patronising git, taking full advantage when Harry had to give it to him. Each did the most they could to wind the other up without drawing too much attention to themselves, and thus they were both in foul moods by the time they reported back to Professor McGonagall after supper.

Harry had gravy down his tie where Malfoy had passed the jug just that little bit too fast, and Malfoy was limping slightly where Harry had kicked him in the ankle for it. Harry was more than fed up with the one metre rule, which he had forgotten a couple of times and tried to storm off, and any complex thoughts of vengeance had been put aside in favour of bickering and petty revenge such as the joint pain his companion was now suffering. He was tired and just wanted to go back to his dorm: he'd had enough of Malfoy for one day, but the mysterious task for that evening still lay before them.

"Gentlemen," Professor McGonagall greeted from behind her desk as they walked into her study, and she actually smiled at the openly frazzled look Harry gave her.

"Professor," Malfoy greeted, creep that he was.

Harry just went and stood at the end of the rule, which was again on the floor. His companion did the same at the other end. However, McGonagall did not immediately lift her wand, instead, she clasped her hands together and leant on her desk, regarding the separated pair carefully.

"How did it go today, Gentlemen?" she asked, surprising Harry.

He glanced at Malfoy, who glanced back, as much at a loss to answer as he was. Harry hadn't expected a quiz at the end of the day and he didn't fancy discussing the squabbling that had been going on since about lunch time.

"I see," their teacher made assumptions from the silence, and she seemed dissatisfied, although not surprised. Then she cast, "Abiungo."

Harry immediately took a step to the side away from Malfoy and was relieved to find that he could. Close proximity to his one-time lover had been making him more than uncomfortable once the horniness of the morning had turned into a whole mixture of anger, frustration and confusion. He liked Malfoy looking at him, he could not deny that, but his animosity was mixing the messages in his body and he needed some space. His movement did not go unnoticed, but it was not received with such concern as his coolness that morning.

Professor McGonagall stood up and, skirting her desk, walked between the two silent young men.

"This way," she directed and led them back out into the corridor.

Their destination turned out to be the Transfigurations' classroom. Harry and Malfoy took indicated seats at the front of the room and the professor then stood before them, her hand on a pile of papers on her desk.

"My third years have been completing their first spell-combination homework, which you may remember, Gentlemen," she began, patting the pile of parchments. "The task was to write a simple two-fold incantation, combining two spells of their choice to create a self-stated outcome on an igneous rock. Tomorrow morning, they will be demonstrating these spells to me. However, tonight, I wish you to go through each homework and cast each spell to ensure there are no unwanted side-effects of the combinations. I have provided a bucket of rocks. One of you will cast the spell, the other will provide counter spells in case of accidents. You may decide between you who does which task. Record the results of each spell. Now, are we clear?"

"Yes, Professor," both replied.

"Then I shall leave you. You have one hour, Gentlemen."

* * *

Malfoy was on his feet and picking up the pile of homework in a few seconds. Harry took his time, and his companion was already scanning through the first few papers when he walked over and began fiddling with a couple of rocks in the bucket.

"These are appalling," Malfoy commented disdainfully, "more likely to blow the rock apart than transfigure it."

"They're only third years," Harry defended without much attention or enthusiasm.

His companion hrmphed and then put the papers on the lower pupil's desk.

"Come on then," he prompted Harry.

"You cast, I'll counter," Harry smiled and glanced around the room with apparent absence; however, Harry noted very well the look of disquiet and distrust on his enemy's face.

No comment from Malfoy was forthcoming, so Harry sat himself on the desk next to the papers and watched as Draco summoned a rock from the bucket and landed it in the centre of the floor a few feet away.

"This one's not going to work," Malfoy muttered more to himself than Harry and then observed loudly, "Intent is to make it grow bigger and change colour to red, but he's got the spell down here for swelling, not increasing in size. Rocks aren't that malleable."

Harry couldn't have cared less about Malfoy's opinion of the ability of rocks to swell, but he did listen just the once: wouldn't do to be too obvious. Draco aimed his wand at the rock and cast. The rock turned a lurid scarlet almost immediately and then it began to bounce around. First it was a minor tremble, then a hop and then a leap into the air as the magic tried to do as it had been directed, but nature got in the way. Malfoy glanced at Harry, who was still slouching on the desk having cast nothing to defend against what was going to probably be the rock blasting into a thousand pieces. Harry smiled back at his companion and leisurely lifted his hand. The barrier was easy to make and with a wave of his fingers, the Freehand raised a shield around the stone just before pellets of rock flew in every direction. The tiny missiles sounded like rain on the inside of the barrier as they hit it and then scattered to the floor.

Another wave and the mess of red pellets were sent sailing into the bin and Harry continued to smile at his adversary, determined to show his control and the perfection of his abilities.

The next two spells were uninspiring, but accurate, so Harry just watched Malfoy perform them and make the required notes. It wasn't until his companion read out the fourth spell that Harry decided it was time to show his hand. The spell was ambitious and amusing: turn the rock into a rock cake and then duplicate. Only problem was the writer had clearly been delving through spell books way above his or her ability and had missed some subtleties of the division spell they had chosen: it was exothermic, fine for inflammable items, but not so good for rock cakes. Malfoy had told Harry this like he was giving a lesson, but Harry was already familiar with the flammable side of magic and knew well enough how to combat a fire.

Malfoy cast the fairly complex spell and the rock did indeed become cake-like, although Harry would not have tried to eat it. As with the first spell, this one came a cropper when the second half kicked in. The cake began to vibrate, the movements becoming gradually bigger, such that the rapid back and forth created two images of the same cake. That would have been fine, the two images splitting and making two buns, but the vibration was clearly causing friction, both on the floor and on the rock cake, from which smoke was rising. This was the juncture at which Harry should have cast a simple dampening spell, but instead he folded his arms and just watched the show, making sure his own shield was raised.

It took Malfoy a few seconds to realise that nothing was going to be done, and then he glanced at Harry, who just grinned back. His adversary prepared to cast the appropriate spell, but it was too late. The cakes caught fire and promptly followed the previous inappropriate spell by exploding. The room filled with the smell of singeing cakes and small balls of flames went in all directions. Malfoy ducked and Harry just watched smugly from behind his protection as the missiles rebounded off him and landed all over the place, some continuing to burn.

"Potter!" Malfoy complained, but did not have much time for retribution since there were at least a dozen fires to put out, including his hair.

McGonagall's desk also suffered a small scorch mark, and the rest of the spell papers barely missed going up in flames. Malfoy was a very skilled wizard and he handled the fires with a flare that Harry had to admire, acting quickly and decisively. It was quite a show, and Harry followed it closely: the way Malfoy's lithe body moved as he contorted to aim his wand at some fires, while patting others out with his hand; the look of concentration on those sharp features as the problem was met. Harry even indulged a thought about the attractive way Malfoy's hair went wild when he exerted himself. Harry was grinning when Malfoy turned on him, and he remembered he was watching an enemy.

"What the bloody hell are you playing at?" Malfoy demanded, wand pointed directly at Harry's heart.

At the threat, Harry stood up, forcing a shimmer from his barrier to demonstrate that he was not vulnerable.

"Now, now, Malfoy," he taunted, "firing anymore spells at me would be instant expulsion."

"Then do your bloody job," his opponent snarked, crossing his arms and tapping his elbow with his wand, much like Snape did when he was annoyed.

Harry stepped right up to his adversary, close enough that he could feel irate breathing on his face and he replied icily, "Not in the mood."

Watching Malfoy was making him horny again, and Harry was not in the mood to hide it. This was the kind of intimidation Malfoy had used on him the previous term, and Harry let the rush of superiority fill him. They may have been the same height, but Harry was looking down on Draco at that moment. Harry dared a confrontation, his stance openly dominant: he did not care about tomorrow, all that mattered was the way his victim's eyes flashed with anger. Harry could see the rage in Malfoy, just below the surface, ready to start their duel again, but he could also see the conflict as aspirations for the future stood in the way of that fury. He didn't know why Malfoy wanted so desperately to remain at school, he was landed gentry, no need for qualifications for a job, but that need was there and Harry played with it. His smile widened in triumph as Malfoy dropped his gaze and stepped backwards out of the confrontation.

"Just keep out of my way," he was told in flat, defeated tones.

* * *

Harry spent the rest of the hour sat on the desk watching Malfoy struggle with a job that was meant for two. He did very well considering that fact. Malfoy was fast, catching many of the adverse spell interactions before they did any damage to himself or the room around, but some were just too quick or too violent. Harry's shield mostly protected him, but even he had to back off when an accurate, but ill-advised spell turned the rock into a miniature volcano whose lava penetrated anything, including magical barriers. Malfoy's edges frayed more and more as the task went on. His uniform was dotted with the remnants of the spells he had failed to block, his hair all over the place and his normal cool exterior nonexistent. Harry liked his opponent like that, it showed vulnerable sides that he could use later in the week and added to his sense of domination.

Still, no matter how skilled Malfoy proved himself to be, the task was meant for two, and the hour had passed before all the papers had been tested. Harry had uncurled from his position on the desk and was stood watching more closely as his clearly exhausted adversary pushed himself on when the door opened. Harry wanted to examine Malfoy's desperation more deeply, fascinated by the drive in his subject, but Professor McGonagall drew his attention with, "Your time is up, Gentlemen."

He turned reluctantly from his centre of attention, but satisfied himself with the thought that Malfoy was white as a sheet at the prospect of failure.

"I'm sorry, Professor," the Slytherin stammered. "I tried, but Potter..."

At that, the woman put up her hand and silenced Malfoy with, "I do not require explanations, Draco. Remember, there is no 'I' in these tasks."

"We didn't finish," Malfoy returned lamely, defeat heavy in his voice.

McGonagall looked at the pile of finished papers, which was lying next to a smaller group of unfinished ones, and she picked up Malfoy's notes on those he had completed. She then looked Malfoy up and down, something Harry couldn't read in her stare, and finally she fixed him with much clearer disapproval.

"The amount of papers I assigned to you should have been well within the capabilities of two Seventh years," the teacher scolded.

Malfoy was holding his breath again.

"However, you have made a fair amount of progress, therefore I shall consider this task successful."

Malfoy let out his breath very rapidly and Harry contented himself with the knowledge that he would have another day in which to torment his enemy.

* * *

Ordered back to his dorm, Harry had made sure he went in a diametrically opposite direction to Malfoy when he left the Transfigurations' classroom. He had thought he was in a good mood: he had succeeded in turning Malfoy into a puppet on his string, but he found himself charging rapidly through the common room, his mood, when in contrast to those around him, black. He headed straight up to his room, ignoring everyone. However, he was followed. As he sat down on his bed and dumped his book bag, Ron and Hermione entered the dorm looking concerned.

Harry hadn't said much to his friends since the fight, and he was not in the mood for their company that evening either. They would have sensible suggestions about getting through the week, and comfort and words of wisdom about wars being over: he didn't want that. He needed to keep his hard edge, to make Malfoy suffer for what he had done, and comfort would only undermine that, so he scowled at the entrants.

"Went well then," Ron commented, frowning back.

Harry's glare did the job of stopping his friends a metre or so away from his bed. Ron stood there, hands in his pockets, somewhere between hostile and worried; Hermione just looked worried.

"It went just the way I wanted it to," Harry replied tartly.

"Then why are you so grumpy?" Hermione challenged.

"Being tied to that git all day is not pleasant," Harry snarked back, dumping his books roughly out of his bag all over the bed.

"You seemed to want to spend enough time with him last term," Ron returned.

Harry was on his feet in seconds, all his defences firing and his fingers itching like crazy. He'd had enough of the finger-pointing and bad feeling, and had hoped it was over, but the rough treatment dolled out on Saturday looked like it had damaged the reconciliation of Friday. The impact of Harry's temper was showing all over Ron's face as he challenged, "What? Are you going to start a fight with your friends now?"

His temper was not so far gone that Harry did not recognise how close to the edge he was. He was annoyed at the antagonism from his friend, but at least he was still just that, a friend. Rapidly, Harry stuffed his hands in to his arm pits and took a step backward. That shocked Ron.

"You were going to cast," Ron sounded hurt and, even worse, a little frightened.

"No he wasn't," Hermione stepped in, literally and pushed the two youths apart.

Harry sat back down and hunched over his knees, not sure what he had been about to do. He hadn't worried about his erratic magic since his friends had rallied round, but set apart again by his own rage, that anxiety returned. He had been in perfect control when he had goaded Malfoy into the duel, and he had been in perfect control all day, but in the presence of his friends, Harry worried for their safety. Hermione, it became rapidly apparent, was not considering the threat Harry posed, because she sat down next to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

"You wouldn't have cast," she assured him and pressed swiftly on with, "Now, what did Professor McGonagall get you doing?"

"Third year spell-checking," he replied blandly. "I made Malfoy do it on his own."

"Oh Harry!" Hermione expressed her disappointment. "You're supposed to work together."

Harry was in no mood for lectures, so he stood up and walked over to the window, objecting, "I will never work with that bastard again."

Only silence followed him over to the dark castle view, and Harry stared out at nothing in particular, his anger simmering as he thought of the user that was his ex-lover.

"He plays games with lives," he eventually snarled his hatred. "He planned it all, everything he did to me was just a diversion for him. I heard what he said to you, Hermione."

"That's why you tried to run away?" Hermione asked, revealing that Ron had not explained everything.

Harry just nodded and kept staring out of the window, somewhere between the pain of that day and the anger that had been born of it.

"And you believed all you heard?" Hermione questioned.

Harry felt his friends approaching him, and he turned to defend himself. He wasn't going to cry, never again for Malfoy, and so he answered hotly, "He didn't know I was there, none of it was for effect."

Hermione put her hands to her mouth and her compassion was almost too much for Harry to bear.

"You think he wouldn't lie to me as well?" she asked.

"Doesn't really matter, does it? He wants to hurt me and it doesn't matter what his reasons; I won't let him," Harry growled and pushed between his two friends as he swore, "I'll hurt him first."

"That's not the way to end this," Hermione countered.

"Isn't it? That's the way it was with me and Voldemort, him or me, and it's the same with Malfoy," Harry objected and his fury was boiling now.

The Freehand didn't dare stay around his friends, he was too angry and the firework that was his magic was rippling under his skin. He headed rapidly for the door, and remembering his confinement to the dorm headed up instead of down. No-one followed and Harry ran all the way to the top, but there was no door anymore. At a dead end in his emotions as well as his surroundings, Harry aimed all his hate at the wall where his respite had once been. His magic erupted and he felt it smash into the wall, but that was it, no mark, no crumbling stone, nothing, Hogwarts had just swallowed the blow. The lack of response sapped Harry's energies, and he sank down on the steps and just reached out to where he had tried to do damage.  
  



	24. Revenge: Not All It's Cut Out To Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's own fears get in the way of his revenge on Malfoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [beren_writes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/beren/pseuds/beren), my excellent beta reader

With his anger dwarfed by exhaustion, Harry descended the stairs when he had mustered enough defences to deal with at least any looks he received. Yet, he needn't have worried, he was alone in the dorm when he returned. Harry tried to do some homework, but he was distracted by the mix of emotions that ran around within him. He had been very sure in his words to Ron and Hermione, but his feelings were not so clear. In the end, Harry abandoned his work in favour of an early night. However, his dreams would not let him be.

She was there, above him once more, the iridescent gown sparking in the soft candle light. The moment could have been one of romance, but as Harry stared at Aleyn de la Folle, he trembled with disgust. Her magic was running through him, burning in his veins, and he struggled, moaning through the gag in his mouth, but the ropes dug into his wrists and ankles, holding him firm. Her touch only increased the fire inside, and he shifted against her involuntarily. Her sigh of pleasure as skin brushed skin sent more shivers of disgust through him, and Harry tried to word his objection. The gag dried out his tongue and lips, sticking to them and filling his mouth, and he coughed against it, fighting for breath. The stifling heat in his body and the restricted breathing made the world fade a little, and the figure above him disappeared in mist, but he could still feel the tormentor he could not escape.

Hands ran up his chest, stroking his nipples as firm thighs gripped around his hips and Harry objected again. A light laugh was the answer, and it was not female. Harry blinked away the mists, confused by what he had heard, and what he saw froze him into place. His heartbeat thundered in his ears as Harry looked up at Draco Malfoy, the spider's web robe accentuating the strong line of his chest and anything but feminine.

"Hello, Slave," his captor drooled, nails making marks back down Harry's chest and stomach.

"No!" Harry rejected the image, lifting himself off the floor.

Yet, as the gag stopped his voice, the bonds had not changed, and Harry was helpless. He continued to struggle, but Malfoy had control: he always had control.

"Shh," a French accent told him as Malfoy continued to stroke and tease his chest.

Harry started when another set of hands cupped his face and Aleyn was there again, leaning over him from behind his head, her face upside down and her long hair brushing his brow.

"Non," he moaned this time as her fire magic coursed through him: he could not fight both at once.

"What's the matter, Harry, having a little rape crisis?" Malfoy taunted, running his hands wherever he wanted to.

"Harry," Aleyn drew his attention back to her, and he tried to shake his head, deny this was happening, but she held his face and cooed in a parody of affection.

"Harry," the taunt was repeated, from Malfoy this time.

He couldn't stand it anymore, as Malfoy's hold increased on his shoulder, Harry screamed and released his magic.

Ron's cry woke Harry and he sat up rapidly, in time to see his friend flying towards the wall.

"No!" he yelled in horror, dragging his magic back in to his body as his worst fears came to life.

Ron crashed into the wall and landed in a crumpled heap at the bottom. Harry moved faster than he had in his entire life and was kneeling beside his best friend in a heartbeat. Quickly, he checked for a pulse, panic rising inside him like a volcano.

"Don't be dead," he begged his unmoving friend, and as if in response there was a heavy breath.

Harry hauled his friend out of the crumple, lying him down and then turned to the rest of the dorm, who were all stood around at various levels of awake.

"Get Pomfrey!" he screamed at them and it was Neville who went sprinting out of the door.

* * *

Harry stood in the corridor outside the infirmary biting his nails, his dressing gown half off one shoulder and wearing only one slipper. Dumbldore and McGonagall were standing with him, and the rest of his dorm were huddled together a little way up the hall, whispering and staring. Not much had been said except a brief description of what had happened, everything had been a rush of calm staff dealing with the emergency and guiding their pupils through it.

Harry had had to be pulled away from Ron, who had not revived by the time Madame Pomfrey had taken over and he had watched everything behind a horrified wall of panic. His deepest fear had been realised, he had attacked a friend through a nightmare, a place where he had no control: he was dangerous. He had left his barriers down at the insistence of his companions, and now Ron was paying for it. If it hadn't been for finding out how Ron was, Harry would have walked out of the castle then and there and locked himself away from the world.

Harry knew the others were scared of him, they had been giving him a wide berth since he had launched chaos into the dorm. Even the staff were watching him closely, so Harry kept the extremes of his thoughts and emotions inside, his only response to the world the way he was gnawing at his thumbnail and a blank stare at the floor. He was so engrossed in the nasty side of his power that when Madame Pomfrey opened the door, he jumped and stared at her wildly.

"Ron is awake and wishes to see you," she spoke directly to Harry.

His instant response was a shake of the head as, in his panicked state, his magic clawed below his skin, but Professor McGonagall laid a hand on his shoulder and told him, "Your friend has asked to see you, Harry. Will you deny him his request?"

The minor blackmail made Harry think twice, and he shook his head again. Madame Pomfrey stood out of the way, and, shoving his hands into his armpits, Harry walked into the room. Ron was in the nearest bed, sat up and looking nervous. There was a developing bruise across the whole of one side of his face and the damage he had caused halted Harry a few feet from the end of the bed. He stood in front of Ron, hunched around his protective stance and didn't know what to say, as an apology seemed rather thin. Ron surprised him.

"I'm sorry, Mate, I shouldn't have tried to wake you up, but it sounded really bad," his best friend apologised.

Harry wasn't sure he had heard correctly: there wasn't supposed to be any sorry's coming from Ron. He was the one who had caused the injury.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked quietly, still keeping his distance.

"Bang on the head and bruising," Ron shrugged, but made a face and rubbed his shoulder as the movement clearly caused him pain.

"Ron has concussion, an enflamed shoulder joint and extensive bruising. He requires observation tonight, but there is nothing that will not heal," Madame Pomfrey replied more plainly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do it," Harry muttered, looking at the floor guiltily and adjusting his stance to make sure his hands were firmly clamped beside his body.

"Do I smell?" Ron surprised Harry again, and he glanced up to see his friend smiling quizzically at him; only when he looked up was he told, "Because you look like you're about to faint with it, and they," he wagged his fingers at the door where the others were standing, "won't even come in the room."

At the humorous chide, the other dorm members came shuffling into the room and Harry moved in closer, still making sure he went down the opposite side of the bed to the others, which left only the members of staff at the end of the bed.

"You look like you've been ten rounds with an ogre," Neville decided to be honest, which did not help Harry's conscience, but which Ron took with another smile.

It seemed that Ron was determined to make light of the situation, but Harry's paranoia was not taking the humour too well. He hovered on his toes, still ready to bolt if his magic rose too high. When Ron looked at him, he froze, not even breathing, and he did not know how to interpret the silent, more serious gaze.

"Calm down, Mate," Ron told Harry. "No harm done."

Harry couldn't help himself, he laughed: a short, desperate sound as he looked at how much injury he had caused.

"Sit!" Ron ordered more forcefully and pointed to a chair.

Harry did as he was told, gasping breath in a tight chest.

"I'm fine, you're fine, you just shoved me harder than most people can manage. Next time, I promise not to try and wake you up without a very long stick, so can we forget it now?"

Ron really was determined to make light of the incident, so, meekly, Harry nodded. Only then did the staff step in, and it was Professor McGonagall who suggested, "I think perhaps it may be best if Harry stays here as well as Ron, Madame Pomfrey."

"No!" Ron objected, making Harry jump again.

It was only after he had protested that Ron realised to whom he was talking, and he looked a little sheepish as he was regarded curiously by all three guardians.

"I mean, Harry should stay in the dorm. This was just a silly mistake, no need to make more of it than it is," Ron returned more reasonably and then looked to his companions for support.

Harry knew exactly what Ron was not saying: that it would make the rumours even worse for him. Yet that was not an immediate issue; the look on his dorm mates' faces, however, was. Neville looked worried. Dean and Seamus just looked annoyed with Ron. However, Weasleys could be very expressive with their determination, and it was written all over Ron's face as he challenged the unspoken objections. Neville backed down first, looking from Ron to Harry and then to the staff, his expression clearing as he did so, he then offered unwaveringly, "Ron's right."

Dean and Seamus looked at each other, their friendship making silent decisions in those looks and finally Dean turned to Dumbledore and replied for both of them, "'spose Ron's right."

Dumbledore smiled at his students and told them, "Thank you, Gentlemen. Now I suggest you all return to your beds. Harry will follow shortly."

The youths nodded, and then with goodbyes to Ron which were, more or less, aimed at Harry as well, the trio left. Once the door was closed behind them, the headmaster turned to Harry and asked, "Now, can you tell us what happened?"

"I was having a nightmare, by the time I realised it was Ron, it was too late," Harry replied in a rush.

"It was a really bad one," Ron added supportively. "We normally leave Harry to it, he doesn't always wake up, but he sounded so awful this time."

The fact that his dorm had a policy for dealing with his nightmares sent a chill right down Harry's spine, and he wondered how often he woke them up. However, the thought went unanswered as Professor McGonagall concluded, "It is clear this was not an intentional act, and your peers seem content to leave it at that, Harry, so I suggest we all retire."

Harry just nodded.

"Goodnight, Mate," Ron dismissed, and added with a friend's insight, "and try and get some sleep."

"You too," Harry took a little heart from Ron's buoyancy and managed a watery smile before he turned and followed his teachers out of the room.

When Madame Pomfrey closed the door on them, Harry found himself flanked by his two companions and they began a slow progress up the hall.

"Do not be dismayed by this, My Boy," Dumbledore spoke first.

"But I hurt Ron," Harry mourned.

"Unlike the recent debacle with Draco, this was an accident," Professor McGonagall pointed out. "There are techniques for controlling your reactions to dreams, some of which you already know from your Occlumency training."

"What if I do it again?" Harry felt very young and very out of control when surrounded by his elders.

"I do not believe your companions will be so foolish as to repeat Ron's mistake," Dumbledore replied with a gentle smile.

Harry had no more questions and so he submitted to the wisdom of his betters.

* * *

Neville had been waiting up for him when he'd returned to the dorm and had made Harry promise that he would not instigate any shield measures around his bed. As a result, Harry had spent a sleepless night worrying about what he could do in his dreams, and he emerged in the morning, exhausted and subdued. He neither spoke to, nor looked at Malfoy when they were bound together by Professor McGonagall, and Malfoy seemed happy enough to maintain the silence as they went to breakfast.

Ron was already at the Gryffindor table when the shackled pair arrived, and he waved at Harry. However, his face was a mixture of purples and browns and from the way everyone's attention was mainly on him that morning, Harry knew someone had been talking about the night's events. Malfoy, of course, noted the evidence in front of his eyes and voiced his conclusions as they sat down at arm's reach of the Hufflepuffs, "Been fighting again, Potter?"

Harry was in no mood for repartee, so he looked Malfoy directly in the eye and told him, "Unless you want me to walk out of this school forever, dragging you with me, don't go there."

That became the sum total of the pair's communication for that day: Harry ignored Malfoy, Malfoy ignored him, and the status quo held. It could have been a normal school day for all the attention one gave the other, except for the fact that both youths went through it alone. Harry had at least expected some taunting from Malfoy's Slytherin friends, they never normally passed up an opportunity, and having their favourite whipping boy attached to one of their own could have been considered a golden one. However, both Gryffindors and Slytherins kept their distance, leaving the prisoners of their own folly to themselves, which, due to their silence, meant alone.

There was plenty of time to think on the night's accident, and Harry dwelt in his own nightmare recollection every time he even glanced at Ron. His best friend always smiled when he looked his way, and did his very best to look jovial, but it was clear that he was still in pain, and the way most of his other house mates were looking at him, Harry knew he was being eyed with caution. He had retreated completely into himself by the time Professor Flitwick led him and his icy companion out of McGonagall's office to the Charms' classroom.

"Well, Boys," the little man began, his soft tones belying the gravity of the situation. "I have a little task for you that I have been meaning to start for years."

He lifted a large tome off his desk that was almost half his size and handed it to Malfoy. He then gathered up a quill and a large pile of parchment, handing them to Harry, who nearly dropped it, because he wasn't paying attention.

"Now, this book is a very useful collection of charms and hexes. However, it has one minor problem. It was developed by a set of twins, who always worked in perfect harmony, one reading out a spell while the other performed it. To protect their work, the twins made sure that the book could only be used by two. That is, one must place full concentration on the book's pages, or it will not remain open. A single glance away and the book will close, and it can be awkward to open again. This makes copying from the book rather difficult for one. Now, I do not expect you to perform any of the spells in here, but one of you must read out the instructions for the other to write down."

Malfoy nodded his understanding when Flitwick paused, looking up at the two much taller youths, but Harry just looked at him.

"Alright then, the instructions for opening the book are here," the teacher handed a folded parchment from his pocket to Malfoy. "You have one hour. Good luck, Boys."

As the door closed, Malfoy looked at Harry, Harry looked at Malfoy. There was no need to say anything, Harry put the parchment back on Flitwick's desk and walked away. He spent the rest of the hour staring out of the darkened window. He listened occasionally to the sounds of pain as the book slammed shut on Malfoy's fingers, but he was more interested in his own misery. No matter what anyone else said, he was dangerous and a school was not the right place for him to master his problems. Yet he didn't want to leave, not really. There were forces driving him out, his erratic abilities and his hatred of Malfoy, but in the end, Hogwarts meant so much to him that it felt like he was losing a friend. That grief kept him from running for the door again.

Harry was still stood by the window when Professor Flitwick returned. The teacher looked from Malfoy to him and back again, tracing slowly the distance between them. There was no hiding it this time: Malfoy was stressed and worried and clearly working alone.

"Oh dear," the little man concluded, walking over to Malfoy and picking up some of his scribbles. "Harry, have you done no work this evening?"

Harry just looked back out of the window.

"Please, Sir, I think he must be in shock, or something," Malfoy gabbled, sounding frantic. "He hasn't said a thing all day, doesn't even seem to know I'm there."

"Harry," the professor called, and he turned at his name and obeyed a beckon.

When he was stood looking down on his teacher, he was asked, "Have you no wish to remain at this school."

"Don't know," Harry replied honestly.

"This is most awkward, most awkward," Flitwick shook his head, frowning in consternation. "To your dorms, both of you. I must speak with Professor McGonagall about this."

* * *

The next morning, Harry walked into his head of house's office not knowing if he would be allowed to finish the week, let alone the year. Malfoy was already there, standing very close to Professor McGonagall's desk and, although silent when Harry entered, looking like he had been pleading for his school career.

"Harry," the woman greeted, standing up.

Malfoy didn't look like he'd slept well either, and Harry tried to take satisfaction in the slightly crooked tie and hair that hadn't been groomed into place as well as usual, but his emotions about himself took precedence.

"The both of you seem to be ill at ease this morning," the teacher began her lecture, "and I hope it is due to the disappointing performance yesterday evening."

Malfoy opened his mouth to make comment, but was silenced by a hand held up to him and McGonagall went on severely, "I do not wish for explanations, Gentlemen. Effort and results are far more likely to sway me."

Malfoy looked crestfallen, and Harry prepared himself for the expulsion decision. McGonagall looked from youth to youth, her gaze stern and her demeanour harder.

"However," she continued and Malfoy let out a rush of breath, "considering the unfortunate, but accidental event that led into yesterday, it has been decided to treat yesterday's task with leniency. Today is your final chance, Gentlemen. Fail us today and you will be packing your bags this evening."

"Thank you, Professor," Malfoy sounded genuinely grateful.

"Your thanks will be success today, Draco," Professor McGonagall replied, but her voice had lost a little of its severity.

Malfoy nodded, and so Harry nodded, not sure what he felt about hanging on to his place at the school through the pleadings of his worst enemy. His anger with Malfoy still sat just below the surface, but the need for retribution had been muted by his own considerations.  
  



	25. A Change For the Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both damaged young men must face their feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [beren_writes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/beren/pseuds/beren), my excellent beta reader

That day progressed much the same as the previous had, although Malfoy did try and communicate a few times. Harry ignored him, and in the end was ignored himself. However, by supper time, Malfoy was clearly growing more desperate, trying to begin conversations several times during dinner. Mainly, a hard stare or a glance towards the door was enough to silence him, but Harry's glares became longer and longer as the meal progressed. Finally, they were stood in the greenhouse with Professor Sprout, Harry looking as cool as the cucumber that the woman had poking out of the breast pocket of her gardening overalls and Malfoy looking as agitated as Harry was really feeling.

"This way, this way," their teacher urged them further down the room.

They stopped in front of some tall, colourful flowers in reds and pinks. Each leafy green stem stretched up with small blooms making a spear of colour at their top. Harry wasn't sure what they were, but he took a rapid step backwards when one of the blooms spat fire in his direction.

"Snap dragons," the professor took the opportunity to introduce her plants, "very pretty in any garden, very good defence against burglars if you use them in borders, and their pollen is the main ingredient in many burns' treatments."

Malfoy nodded, but Harry's only recollection of such plants was from a vague memory of Aunt Petunia's garden, and he was sure those ones hadn't spat fire.

"These ones need re-potting, they're too tall for their current pots, keep falling over," Sprout explained. "Pots are over there, compost is in the bag. One do the potting, the other use this calming spell to stop them burning you."

Malfoy took the crumpled piece of parchment that came out of the same pocket as the cucumber. Then the rotund woman pottered off back the way she had come. When her footsteps had died away, slowly, Harry looked across at his companion, and he saw the most open expression he had seen since they had stopped having sex. Malfoy's face showed desperation and confusion, and the same sentiments were in his voice as he told Harry, "I can't do this alone. What is it going to take?"

The complete admission of subjection took Harry by surprise, and fired some unwanted pangs of guilt which stopped him from answering. Malfoy's normal sly patience was completely absent as he prompted, "What do you want? Is it sex?"

That made Harry step back in horror.

"You would think that," he snarled back, defending his morals in the face of an idea that had to be half true. "You'd do it too," he concluded. "What would you chalk it up to: necessary act to shut Potter up?"

Disgusted and his skin crawling with the depths to which Malfoy was willing to sink, Harry turned on his heel and prepared to end their liaison for ever. Yet a hand grabbed his arm and Malfoy begged, "No, please, tell me what you want."

Harry ripped away from his companion, backing into an empty table. His heart was thumping with the images that the proposal had inspired, and his anger came to his defence.

"What I want?" he growled, his volume growing as he repeated, "What I want? I want you to stop playing with people. I want you to understand what it's like to be hounded. I want you to realise that life isn't some chess game to be calculated and played, it's real and whatever you do touches other people. I want you to act like you're human, just once!" Harry yelled.

Malfoy stood in between poppies and snap dragons, his mouth open and quite clearly shocked by the message that had been shouted at him. Harry reeled in his rage, bringing it down to a simmer at the complete incomprehension before him: his words were futile. There had to be a point to all this, and there was a substitute for understanding.

"I'm not going to get that, am I?" he hissed and stalked back up to his prey, who remained a statue. "So I'll settle for the truth."

That seemed to confuse his enemy even more, so Harry elucidated, "I want answers, Malfoy. I want to know why you have dogged me every day of this term. I want to know why you are so angry, and I want the absolute truth. If I even think you are lying I walk out of that door forever."

A challenge to his question returned some spirit to Malfoy, and he turned away from Harry, putting a few paces between them and replied, "My father's escape: because of you, I wasn't there."

Harry laughed: he couldn't believe it was so petty.

"You're blaming me for being at my place that night?" he asked incredulously. "You could have not turned up!"

"Stop being so bloody literal," Draco snapped, and he glared over his shoulder; he was clearly uncomfortable, but the Slytherin battened down the momentary pique and explained again, "Because of my relationship with you they didn't trust me enough to tell me about it. My mother knew. I didn't know why she was so angry with me for going out that night: she wanted me at the New Year's Eve party in front of everyone so they couldn't accuse me of being involved."

It was that simple and it made sense, and that floored Harry for a little while. He could see the pain in Malfoy's eyes, a hurt he was trying to hide, and had been hiding since the beginning of term, and Harry understood.

"Is that all you want to know?" Malfoy prompted, looking back at the ground.

It wasn't. His power over his adversary made him confident enough to ask, "If it was going to cause trouble, why did you come after me in the first place?"

Malfoy turned to face him, and for a moment, Harry thought he had lost control, but the hard stare from Draco was defensive, not aggressive.

"You were a distraction."

Harry's blood began to boil again: he was and had always been nothing more than a play thing. However, before he could speak, Draco snatched his words away with, "At first, you were. You were a game, a distraction to fill the void after the war. You think I'd have started things if I'd known where they would go? We were enemies, Potter, not bosom buddies."

Harry was still angry at the truth, and he challenged it with, "Why does everything have to be sides with you? Why couldn't you just live with the peace? The war's over and what you're doing is destroying everything people are working for."

When grey eyes widened and stared at him, Harry saw the realisation dawn before him and he knew he struck a chord, only he didn't know what that was.

"You heard Granger and me," Draco revealed his conclusions, pointing and wagging his finger. "That's why you suddenly went nuts."

"I went nuts?" Harry defended hotly, moving back in to try and find the lofty position he had used on Monday, but he just ended up nose to nose with his antagonist. "Yeah, I did, and you know why I went nuts, because you have ripped me to pieces since I got you off the hook with the Ministry. People hurt when you call them names and spread their personal life all over the place: I hurt. I trusted you and you used every bit of that to cause me pain. You put me through hell and you laughed!"

Harry was shouting again by the time he finished, right into Draco's face, and there was shock in the gaze that looked back at him: maybe Malfoy was beginning to understand. The lack of armour around his ex-lover kept Harry going, and he charged, "You're not the hard nut you appear to be either, are you? I've seen what's under the surface. I was a distraction, but not from war, not really. I was just more fun than thinking about your father being locked up."

Anger clouded the shock then, but Malfoy remained silent, still unsure of the bitter pill that was Harry Potter.

"You're like the little boy who pulls girl's pigtails because you can't deal with your emotions," he accused.

"Just because you need to scream and shout and stomp like a little kid doesn't mean the rest of us do," Draco snarked back, shifting even closer, but his tone was all wrong: Harry knew he'd hit the nail on the head.

"Stop pulling pigtails," Harry challenged, his voice low, his heart thumping and his body excited by his proximity to the man he would never find unattractive.

"Make me," Draco pushed back, his pupils dilated with the sparks flying round the room.

The contest broke all of Harry's self-control and, as it had the previous term, his body led his head: he grabbed Draco by the shoulders, shoved him over to their flowerpot table and, when he was braced, kissed him soundly. The tension of the last few weeks shattered in Harry and came out in familiar, passionate aggression. Draco's lips parted on his demand and they tasted so good. When his partner's tongue brushed his, Harry groaned and shivers ran right through his body and out through his feet.

It was not a full-body embrace. Harry was holding Draco's shoulders with a grip of iron and Draco was gripping hard to the table against which he was leaning. Still, it had every cell in Harry's body singing with his lust for Draco in seconds, and he wanted more. He let Draco pull away just enough that he could see his shell-shocked face.

"Try no sides for a while," he whispered, heat in his sound as the possibility made his knees go weak. "We can always go back to trying to kill each other next week."

Harry let go of Draco's shoulders and waited, confident in the knowledge that he had the other spider trapped in his web this time. Malfoy adjusted his position, planting his feet more firmly on the floor and then he let go of the table. Harry started and then shifted against the touch as fingers ran under his robes and over the flannel on his buttocks. He smiled when palms flattened on his arse and pulled him in close between Draco's legs. He was left in no doubt that his partner was as excited as he was and only then did he move proactively. First, he pulled off his glasses and dumped them in a flowerpot. Then, he ran his hands up Draco's arms and round his back. Slowly, indulging every shiver and each shift of body, Harry drew Draco back to him.

Harry groaned again as the physical touch chased away the world. His anger and frustrations with Draco came out in a little rough handling as his fingers tangled in his lover's hair, but mainly, Harry was interested only in the glorious sensations that the embrace generated in him. Deeper emotions could wait as the superficial, physical need answered everything Harry needed to know. He had Malfoy exactly where he wanted him, and the passion that had turned to anger in them both returned more and more with every heartbeat. Malfoy was as strong and powerful as ever, a flame for the lustful moth in Harry and possible destruction be damned.

The world was not so far away, however, that Harry did not hear footsteps behind him. Malfoy heard them too, and tensed in his embrace, but Harry was too far into the embrace to care what anyone else saw. A gasp and an, 'O My!', told him that their watcher was Professor Sprout, but her reaction meant that she could be ignored. Instead, he pressed himself against Malfoy with all the lust he had bottled up inside and was gratified when his partner softened to his touch once more: the footsteps hurried back the way they had come.

Sprout may have left, but Malfoy revealed he wasn't out of control enough to forget her completely when he broke the kiss and pushed Harry's face away from his own. His eyes were bright and his expression half-amused as he glanced down the now empty path to their impromptu boudoir and then back at Harry, and he observed dryly, "I doubt this is what they consider cooperation."

"Why not?" Harry challenged. "It's the closest we've worked all term."

All restraint somewhere in his past, he kissed the half smile in front of him again, but drew back to see the reaction. They were still intimately close lower down their bodies, and the way Draco shifted, Harry knew there was more passion inside him, but he saw the moment slip away. Draco glanced at the untouched Snap Dragons and the needs of the evening slipped back into Harry's world.

"However close this is," Draco told him, shifting again in a way that made Harry certain that the embrace was not going to be their last, "we better get those plants re-potted, or we'll be out on our ears."

Harry released his lover reluctantly, but he knew he was right, and he settled his sexual wants by deciding, "You do the calming spell, I'll re-pot."

Draco stood up and grimaced, offering, "Potter, we both know any plant matter you touch dies within three days."

That was true enough: Harry did not have a green thumb at all, and had been letting Neville deal with anything living in Herbology practicals.

"You calm, I pot," Draco finalised the arrangements by handing Harry the parchment.

Considering the mess from Monday and his complete lack of interest the day before, Harry was surprised at the trust in the Slytherin, but he took the parchment with a small smile that spoke of his surprise. He wasn't sure if Draco understood, or even saw the gesture, because his companion turned away from him and picked up a flowerpot. Harry caught his glasses as they were chucked at him, and then it was down to business.

* * *

Harry heard two pairs of footsteps coming towards them on the greenhouse's hard floor as he repeated the mantra-like spell which was keeping the remaining few Snap Dragons dormant while Draco handled them. He faltered at the arrival, but Draco was faster and had already let go of the plant around which he was arranging compost, and was out of range of the many tongues of fire that came from the grumpy blooms. Still, he glared at Harry while his back was towards the newcomers. Harry shrugged his apology and then turned to meet their visitors.

It didn't feel like an hour had passed, the time had just disappeared in frenetic activity. They hadn't entirely concentrated on moving plants between pots, there having been a significant amount of groping taking place in between. The pair were therefore anything but pristine: Draco's hair was falling over his face in wild tangles and his shirt was hanging out and had hand marks in compost over much of it; Harry's clothing was in equal disarray and he didn't know what his hair looked like. However, most of the plants had been transferred to the bigger pots and they had only broken a couple of terracotta pots when their exuberance had caused them to be careless, so Harry was fairly confident of a positive reaction from their teachers. Draco looked more nervous.

Professor Sprout, it turned out, had brought reinforcements in the form of Professor McGonagall, behind whom she was half-hiding. McGonagall was far less reticent in the way she eyed both youths; she wasn't smiling, but neither was she frowning. Harry was certain his head of house missed nothing in her survey, and he wondered for a moment if they would be called on their lewd behaviour. However, then his teacher's eyes flicked over to the plants neatly lined up in their new pots and he knew the amorous side effect of the evening was not going to be overtly mentioned.

"Well, well, this is a change for the better, Gentlemen," McGonagall took charge, since it looked like Sprout might turn redder than a tomato if she opened her mouth. "This was accomplished together?"

"Yes, Professor," Harry told her. "Malfoy potted and I did the calming."

"Your magic was stable enough for that?" his mentor looked surprised and genuinely interested.

"There were a few slips," Draco added, a small frown on his face as he continued, "but we managed."

The inclusive language pleased their task mistress even more and she nodded at the explanation.

"Well, if you are in agreement, Professor Sprout, I would say we can say this task has been completed successfully."

McGonagall looked to her companion, who nodded vigorously and went an even brighter red when Harry smiled at her.

"Alright then, Gentlemen, straight back to your dorms," the deputy head dismissed.

"Yes, Professor," the youths replied together and then, gathering their things, headed rapidly for the door.

* * *

Harry didn't try and analyse too hard the look in Professor McGonagall's eyes when he had dashed off after Draco: he just knew that it was different from the hard, consternated stare he had been receiving the rest of the week. Instead, he concentrated on the good looking arse in front of him, and as soon as they were in the warmth of the castle, he grabbed for it. Draco actually yelped as Harry's fingers closed around one cheek, but he turned in response, which was exactly what Harry wanted and he pulled his partner's body in to his.

His book bag hit the ground as Draco responded and Harry shivered afresh as hands ran up under his already loosened clothing. He could have spent all night locked in such an embrace and he nipped hungrily at Draco's mouth, his body returning quickly to the aroused state which it had experienced several times that evening already. He tipped his head back as Draco went for his neck, and, digging his nails in to the small of his partner's back, he growled, "God, I want to get you naked."

Draco's first response was to push him backwards until he slammed into the nearest wall, and then, much to Harry's disappointment, he broke the kiss. However, then his answer came with, "The feeling's mutual, but if we're not back at our dorms in ten minutes, they'll send out search parties, so this will have to do."

With that, Draco returned to the wonderful attention he had been paying to Harry's neck and Harry took out his frustration by drawing scratches across his lover's back.

The couple risked a few minutes, but then, suddenly, with a bite to his shoulder, Draco abandoned Harry and walked away, not even looking back.  



	26. Old Associations, New Tricks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Draco have to work things out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [beren_writes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/beren/pseuds/beren), my excellent beta reader

The next morning, those amongst his dorm mates who had not noticed Harry's much improved mood were given a demonstration which left them in no doubt. Harry beat Neville to the bathroom, something he never managed on normal mornings, let alone during the current week. When getting dressed, he'd tried not to grin from ear to ear, especially after Seamus had asked him if Malfoy had slipped him a mickey, but he wasn't good at hiding his emotions, and even the sometimes dense Irish youth had begun to realise that it was natural, not magical forces at work.

The atmosphere in the dorm had gone quite strange after that: Harry had thought he felt a sense of relief coming from his friends, but it was mixed up with so many other looks which he had caught out of the corner of his eye, that Harry wasn't sure if they were angry with him. The conversation came and went, falling into uncertain silences, mainly after Harry had chimed in with what should have been inane chatter, but he supposed it was so unusual for him that term that it was throwing his friends off; eventually, he shut up and decided to focus on the growing warm excitement that had taken hold of him after Malfoy had left him so abruptly the night before. Harry's grin was therefore even wider than it had started when he dashed out of the dorm room a full fifteen minutes early for his rendezvous in McGonagall's office.

Draco didn't stand a chance: Harry spotted his quarry a few doors away from their destination, and he slammed his lover up against the wall with exuberance tempered only with enough concern not to break any bones. Draco moulded to him, and Harry crushed his lips to his companion's. His partner tasted so good, and all the anger and frustration that had built up inside him since the beginning of term drove Harry on as it shifted into sexual aggression. He liked this relationship spiced with a little dominance, last term had proved that to the young man, and at first, Harry liked the less intense response from his companion, the gasp of shock as he had hit the wall, the weakness of returned grip this had caused, and the capitulation to the instigator's will. Yet as that reply persisted, Harry quickly began to miss the tussle-like answer that normally met his enthusiasm. Without that spice, the taste of his lover lost its sweetness, and, confused, Harry broke the embrace.

The young man kept Draco possessively pinned to the wall with his lower body, but he leant his upper torso back and asked plainly, "What's the matter?"

Draco looked back at him, his gaze also somewhat confused for a few moments, and he replied, "I thought you were enjoying being in control."

"I enjoy you being you," Harry returned, and a wave of discomfort ran from his head all the way down his spine; he hurriedly backed off.

The fear on Malfoy's face that his action caused made his gut lurch, and he backed off some more as hands reached out to him. It was his turn to feel stone on his shoulder blades, but it was his own suspicions which forced him in to it as Malfoy took a couple of steps towards him and then stopped. The fear was hidden in seconds, but the survey he was given instead held more calculation than lust, and Harry's ardour died completely. He hadn't seen this last night, he was almost sure such planning hadn't been there and he showed his disgust with it now. Malfoy saw the moment die, and he seemed somewhat lost.

"What are you trying to work out, Malfoy?" Harry growled, angry that thought was dominating what he'd wanted to be emotion.

"What you want," the Slytherin answered, frustration crossing his features. "One moment you're Mr Masterful and the next you're a wallflower: can't you ever be consistent?"

"This isn't some game," Harry snarled as he began to realise that Malfoy had spent the night second-guessing him. "I'm not a piece to be out-manoeuvred."

Draco looked worried again, and Harry felt sick.

"Harry," his companion began weakly, his eyes flicking over the sour expression Harry was sending him.

As he looked at the disquiet in the gaze opposite him, realisation dawned on Harry that he was dealing with a totally different animal to himself, and it stopped his nausea in its tracks.

"You really don't understand, do you?" he concluded.

Draco frowned, a worried and confused little gesture which made Harry want to reach out: he grabbed for cloth and yanked his lover back in to his body. Draco just let the motion happen, clearly trying to work out what to do next.

"How many times do I have to say it, Draco? Life is not a game," Harry intoned smoothly.

The frown deepened, and Draco revealed he was not all capitulation as he took hold of Harry's shoulders and protested, "This whole relationship is founded on games."

"There's a difference," Harry retorted loudly right into Draco's face before his brain had really caught up with what his instincts said.

He calmed at the winded look that came back at him and argued, "A difference between the bedroom and, and everywhere else. Its two totally different sets of emotions."

Draco raised an eyebrow at that statement, and Harry had to admit, "Alright, not totally different, but in the beginning, this was all some nasty game between Dark and Light to you. You don't think of it the same way now, you told me as much last night."

For a moment, Harry wondered if his lover would meet his challenge, but instead, Draco dropped his gaze. That was enough doubt for Harry, and he snaked his arms around Draco's waist as he finished, "Don't analyse it too hard, it doesn't make sense."

Draco glanced back up at him, and Harry felt his instincts rise; he leant forward and parted unsure lips. He took control again, but this time the disquiet in his lover sent tingles down his back: he had Draco Malfoy at a disadvantage. He had winged the Slytherin with an honest bludger and real life felt good.

It took Draco a few moments, but eventually he seemed to take Harry's advice and he relaxed into the leisurely embrace. Harry didn't know if he really was being himself, or whether his lover's acting was just more convincing this time, but, shortly, libido took over completely and then his thoughts scattered.

* * *

Professor McGonagall, it became apparent was not phased by her students appearing at her door slightly ruffled, even though, from the appraising look she repeated from the night before made it clear to Harry that she was more than aware what had caused the situation. She sent them off with the usual warning of no unauthorised magic and no more. Their peers were however a different matter, and when the couple walked into the hall, it was Monday all over again, only this time the stares were more open and less fearful: someone had been talking. This time, Harry was rather glad that gossip moved faster than anything else, but from the way Draco stiffened, it was clear he wasn't. Now invested in remaining at the school, which equated to being as near to his sexual partner as possible, Harry did not want to rock the boat with his lover, at least not in public, so he hardened his stance as well and led the way to the Hufflepuff table.

Harry sat down straight away, and Draco moved round to his seat, but looked across at Harry, surprise in his gaze. Harry flicked his hand quickly at the place opposite, feigning the short temper which had characterised him for sometime, and swiftly Malfoy sat. When talking slowly started up again, Harry looked at the same unsure gaze he had earlier that morning and whispered in good humour, "Let's keep them guessing."

A smile curled one corner of Draco's lips at that suggestion: it clearly appealed, and Harry was happy when he saw his partner visibly relax. Trying very hard not to grin back, he then helped himself to porridge.

* * *

The remaining two days of the week passed in slow motion for Harry. He spent much of his spare time in dark corners with Draco, but that spare time was infrequent and short, and left him horny for the rest of the two days. None of the teachers made any comment about it: Remus completely ignored the fact that Draco's tie was halfway across the Dark Art's classroom when he came to check that the youths had completed the Dual Dimensioned Maze puzzle he had set them on Thursday evening, and Snape had merely reprimanded them for being slovenly in their dress when McGonagall dropped them off for their final task after a particularly amorous smooch between the dining hall and the deputy head's office had nearly made them late for the appointment.

Both tasks went without a hitch, since, when they focused on the problem, Harry and Draco were very competent wizards. Snape had tried to be scathing about the Dragon's Fire potion, the ingredients of which had had to be prepared in two separate cauldrons at least ten feet apart until the last combinatorial moment, but it had worked perfectly, reproducing the intensely hot flame which reminded Harry of his fourth year, and he had not been able to fault it. Harry wasn't going to tell his teacher that this was mainly down to Draco screaming instructions at him, and Draco didn't mention it either, having, it appeared, taken the message of teamwork to heart.

Having satisfied Snape was an unusual experience for Harry, and he knew it was mainly due to the man's clear relief at Draco's change in attitude, but he was buoyant about it none-the-less. He was expecting to be dismissed back to his dorm as before, but Snape merely started putting ingredients' jars back into his storeroom, no dismissal being forthcoming. Draco glanced at Harry, his face showing he was equally surprised that they hadn't been shooed on their way, and the Slytherin was more sure of his position with their tutor to ask, "Should we go, Sir?"

"You are being collected," Snape replied, continuing what he was doing and not bothering to look around.

The information answered the question, but held up many more, but it wasn't wise to question Snape unless you wished to lose house points. Thus, Draco and Harry each leant against a desk and waited for their appointed collector. The person's identity was revealed after only a few minutes, and it immediately made sense to Harry as Professor Dumbledore walked through the door. The old man smiled as both youths straightened and greeted, "Ah, Boys, good you are ready. I would like us to go for a walk. Thank you, Professor Snape."

Snape just stood in the corner and watch as the Headmaster gathered his pupils, one either side of him and swept them out of the room just in front of his robed arms. With his anger dissipated into other emotions, Harry was glad with the smile that remained on his mentor's face as they walked down the corridor and out of the dungeon. However, he was slightly perturbed by the silence that accompanied them, since he was waiting for Dumbledore to say what was on his mind. He was almost on the point of saying something when, without warning, the old wizard began, "Now, Gentlemen, I am gladdened to see that your have accepted the second chance provided to you."

"Thank you for offering it, Professor," Draco replied and Harry thought he was sincere.

"It is a matter of great distress for all the staff at Hogwarts when a student loses his or her way," Dumbledore replied. "It was much the same when I realised I could do nothing for Tom Riddle."

Harry was shocked to be compared to Voldemort, and it must have shown on his face, because his mentor looked his way and commented, "You do not believe that such shocking behaviour is worthy of such a comparison?"

That put an even worse taste into Harry's mouth, but without rage clouding his judgement, he remembered the explosions and screaming of his fellows, and he had no answer, so he looked away instead.

"I have been most concerned for you, Harry, My Boy," the headmaster continued earnestly and too openly for Harry's taste, but still he pressed on, "Your behaviour has been uncharacteristic of late."

Harry was not ready for such a personal conversation, especially not in front of Malfoy: he may have wanted to shag him senseless, but trust was a much more difficult concept. Dumbledore, however, did not take any notice of the way Harry was looking at the floor, and he revealed an even hand in his openness as he continued, "And you, Draco, your behaviour has not been so much uncharacteristic as it has been extreme. Both of you have been worryingly uncommunicative to boot."

"Sorry," both youths mumbled and the same sentiment in Draco made him glance round the back of Dumbledore to check his partner's reaction.

Draco's enquiring gaze came right back at him, and, strangely embarrassed, he quickly looked away again. Dumbledore, if he was aware of his companions' reactions to his words did not make comment. Instead, he continued, "I hope you have both gained more from this week than mere truce."

Harry felt his cheeks grow hot at that and he was certain the old man knew very well what he had gained.

"I trust that you have each gained an understanding of the other that may not have existed before: that is the purpose of the essay, to put into words what you have learnt," the headmaster told them.

"Yes, Sir," Draco responded where Harry had only embarrassed silence.

"Such confidence," Dumbledore chuckled to himself, and Harry noted the small frown of indignance that appeared on Malfoy's face and disappeared as quickly when the old man looked his way. "Be aware, Young Man, that you will never stop learning about another, no matter how long you know them, that is one of the wonders of life."

At that point, Professor Dumbledore drew their party to a halt, and gentle hands guided each youth round in front of him. Harry thought of the grandfather he had never known as he looked up into the weathered, knowledgeable face and he suddenly felt very young.

"Boys," the ancient wizard began, as if affirming the feeling in Harry, "take heed of the disaster that so nearly was. You are both leaders among your peers; they look to you for guidance and your actions these last few weeks have taken us to the brink of schism. I wish you to understand now that there will be no further chances. If the truce between you does not last, I shall have no choice but to take action against both of you."

Harry went hot and cold at the blunt warning, and he looked up at his mentor in silence. He knew he could not promise peace with Malfoy: their lust for each other was too unpredictable. However, he took the warning to heart and slowly nodded his ascent to the endeavour. Dumbledore smiled at him again, but this time the gesture held a sadness that disappointed Harry: he knew he was not completely trusted. However, the look was gone in a moment, and then his headmaster's tone changed, it grew lighter and Harry thought he heard a mild amusement in it as Dumbledore told them both, "Oh, and My Boys, I was young once, and I understand your enthusiasm, but as I have said, you have many eyes on you, so be discrete."

* * *

Harry slammed into the mattress, his hands hitting the pillow either side of his head; he struggled with the grips that had forced him down, but Draco's body had him pinned to the bed. Muscle writhed against muscle, damp and aroused, but Draco had the upper hand, literally, and he took the move one step further when he planted a kiss soundly on Harry's lips. The demand sent stabs of passion through Harry, adding to his already heated libido, and his resistance melted. The fight could wait for another time as he rubbed himself against the body on top of him, and raised one leg to stroke his thigh down the outside of Draco's.

Draco released one wrist, putting all his upper torso weight quite painfully on to Harry's other arm, but the discomfort mixed with want as his lover's palm ran down the side of his body, over his hip and round to grab his buttock. They shifted as one, twisting to the side and Harry wrapped his leg around Draco's body as fingers slid tantalisingly round one cheek and played between them. He murmured through the heavy kiss and pushed his straining erection hard against Draco's stomach, his fervour at the re-acquaintance with his partner's body making his actions urgent and aggressive. Draco broke the press of lips for a second and instructed breathily, "Get ready."

Fingers teased the outside of his arse for another second and then pressed mercilessly at his entrance. He was dry and tight and Harry grunted as the force burnt, but Draco took no notice of the second discomfort he had inflicted. Harry now knew what the instruction had meant, and with the pain and pleasure mix in his voice, he managed to cast, "Umecto."

The arc of magic through his body caused a reflex of which Draco took full advantage: as Harry convulsed helplessly with the combined pleasures, his lover slid the penetration further into his now lubricated anus. Harry gripped Draco and groaned deeply, at the mercy of whatever his partner wanted to do to him. One finger swiftly became two moving in and out, opening him with a demand he was only too willing to meet. He panted and arched his back, digging his nails into Draco's shoulders as the force dragged him into ecstasy.

Harry was putty in Draco's hands, and he went where he was guided as his lover shifted off him and flopped him on to his front, all the while maintaining the deliciously distracting massaging of his arse. Harry grabbed a pillow to replace the flesh he had been gripping and let out a yell loud enough to wake the dead when Draco stretched him still further with three fingers.

"Out of practice, Harry?" Draco teased.

Harry just growled back at him, well beyond words and paid for his aggression as Draco twisted his fingers. He gasped and then bit the pillow. For a moment, Harry considered fighting back against the dominance Malfoy was displaying, but the lust in him far outweighed his want to claw back some position: putting Draco in his place could wait till later, he was enjoying the sensations too much.

The meeting of bodies had had an urgency about it since they had met in the Room of Requirement and quickly stripped, even the wrestling match that had begun the encounter had been born out of Harry's want to get his hands on Draco's pale, smooth flesh as he had watched him climb onto the bed. Harry was expecting the efficiency with which Draco relaxed him and also the replacement of fingers with cock a little before he was truly ready. He moaned loudly once more and pushed back onto the hot shaft that demanded all of him. He was tight, but willing and his lover groaned reciprocally as the penetration brought them together: in lust at least, they were united.

Malfoy leant heavily on his back and pushed Harry into the mattress, holding him still, where he wanted him. Harry wriggled a little, a minor show that he was not completely supplicated, but Draco just took that as a sign to move and all Harry's resistance evaporated into hedonism. He held back none of the way his lover made him feel, each gasp, each groan meant to tell Draco how much Harry was enjoying the attention. Draco shifted slowly at first, small movements, but with the encouragement, they became faster and harder.

Two days of build up to the consummation of their lust meant there was no stopping the pair and fervour became orgasm for Draco in a rush. He yelled more loudly than Harry as he thrust aggressively into Harry's body; Harry buried his face in the pillow and took all that his lover had to give, the cocktail of force and passion waking every pleasure centre in his body.

It was a shock when Draco's orgasmic tension suddenly broke and he practically fell off of Harry. After the zeal of their lust, it took Harry a second or two to come down. Then, slowly he lifted his head and looked across at Draco, who was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling absently, spent and panting. Harry wasn't finished, however, and the sight of his lover almost helpless sparked a thought of taking advantage. The sensations of the penetration still running through his body, Harry knelt up and stared down at his newly subordinated partner.

Draco's distracted gaze slowly tracked over to Harry and there was disquiet there, but not enough to stop Harry from satisfying himself. His loins were throbbing with his desire and his magic was running through him in time with his heartbeat. He had brought it to the surface when he had cast the lubrication spell, and he had no inclination to push it back down. Harry was powerful as he knelt over his lover and they both knew it. As with his anger, his passion gave no room for doubt where his Freehand magic was concerned, and gasping as it prickled over his skin, teasing his erogenous zones, he pushed his power out still further.

The first sign that Draco felt anything was a sound almost a whimper, and eyes closed as he shifted reactively. Harry had merely brushed flesh with his strands of magic, but the reaction of the over-sensitised body below him sent adrenaline pumping faster round his system and his dick pulsed with his excitement. Draco's eyes remained closed, his head went back and his mouth opened in an almost silent moan as Harry visualised his power running out from the centre of his lover's chest, encasing him like an erotic blanket. There was nothing to see, not in the real world, but to Harry, as the magic fed back to him, he saw the sparks of power that tantalised every part of Draco's body as it did his own.

Draco's back was arched and he was crushing the bed sheets between his fingers as magic stroked him. Yet Harry had only just begun, and he revelled in the sight of his helpless lover as he murmured, "Get ready."

Draco shook his head, his eyes opening in disbelief at the warning, but Harry took no heed: as Draco had used his fingers, Harry used his magic and, with a cry of shock, Draco reared off the bed.

"Out of practice, Draco?" Harry teased, but he paused the intrusion long enough to allow the shout to become pants.

The look on Draco's face was somewhere between absolute lust and reproachful anger, and it was an intoxicating mixture to Harry: he quickly straddled the taut body and kissed the expression. Draco, however, did not surrender so easily to his desires, and it was Harry's turn to groan as a hand took firm hold of his erection. He was forced to break the kiss, and his magical response was to increase his attentions; Draco's body pressed up against his as he arched off the bed again and Harry's arms almost collapsed as the fist around his dick threatened to do damage.

The aggression between them dimmed Harry's ardour a little and his magic paused as he tried to recover. Draco whined and his grip weakened as he sunk back onto the mattress, but he did not let go. They were at stalemate.

"Don't you want me, Draco?" Harry whispered, deciding that words were his best weapon in getting what he wanted.

He moved his magic just a little, enough to brush Draco's prostate lightly. His lover panted again and shifted in pleasure, but his grip did not tighten once more: Harry smiled.

"Am I too much for you?" he teased.

That did gain a flex of fingers and he gasped in air as the touch sent a wave of arousal out through his body. Naturally, his magic reacted, but when Draco reared this time, the grip slipped away, returning to the sheet and Harry knew he was more than wanted. Draco's eyes had closed again and the time for teasing was over. As his lover collapsed back onto the bed, Harry moved, shifting down the lithe body between Draco's legs. There was no resistance as he lifted his partner's lower body and hardly any as flesh replaced magic.

Harry shuddered as he slid into his lover's body and the contact almost pushed him over the edge. He hung onto climax with everything he had: it would not be over so quickly, and both he and Draco gasped heavily as they united a second time. Harry didn't know how long he held still listening to his partner's breathing and recovering some equilibrium, but he surprised himself when he found a quiet place in the midst of his raging magic and passions. At the eye of the storm he found his control and he moved. Draco groaned again and arched into the thrust that followed quickly after a shallow withdrawal and the storm whipped up around Harry again. He let his magic run free, trusting it like he trusted his instincts and every pleasure centre was screaming as he began to pound his lover.

Power ran through and around Harry, part of his climax. This was way beyond itchy fingers: he was one with his magic, he could feel it coursing round his body, but not as some wild thing out of his control, instead as his ally. It moved with him, not against, and each thrust drew a yell from Draco as Harry enhanced their physical pleasure with magical delights. Wizard to wizard, lover to lover, nothing else mattered: Harry had his Adonis back and he bellowed his claim to the room as he hit orgasm.

Everything disappeared into a heady place between reality and unconsciousness where power and pleasure mixed as one. The waves of passion ran through Harry's body and took away all motor control. It was like falling through erotic treacle and when he hit ground, Harry's muscles felt like he'd been swimming in it as well. He came back to reality collapsed on top of Draco, whose only movement was a rising and falling of his chest. Trembling with the effort, Harry turned his head and looked at his lover's visage. Draco's eyes were still closed, his mouth slightly open and for a moment, Harry thought he'd managed to knock him out. Yet, still barely moving, Draco's hoarse, but definite voice filled with left-over ardour reached Harry's ears with the comment, "You've learnt a few tricks this term then."  



	27. Wands and Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting back into the school routine, Harry is asked to talk about wands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [beren_writes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/beren/pseuds/beren), my excellent beta reader

Harry was staring into space and had been doing so since returning to the common room after his tryst with Draco. He was a little sore in places, but a good hot shower had sorted out most of his aches and the other twinges just helped remind him of the intense hour he had spent with his lover. Saturday afternoon to all non-swots generally meant free time, but Harry had a lot of homework to catch up on, and he had fully intended on concentrating on it, but Transfigurations lay open and forgotten in front of him. Harry had known he was missing his lover, the wet dreams had made that clear, but the excited and warm feelings that were running around inside him had made him realise just how much he had been missing. He didn't try and analyse those feelings, he just enjoyed them.

"Harry," the voice drew him out of his dream with a start and he blinked up at Ron, who was stood between his sister and his girlfriend.

"You could give Luna a run for her money," Ginny joked, indicating to where the somewhat strange sixth year was sat chewing on the end of a very damp quill and staring at the wall.

"Sorry," Harry apologised, sitting up from the dreamy slouch into which he had slumped and pulling his books off the sofa next to him.

"You look like you could do with some air," Hermione observed, and none of his friends moved to make use of the space he made.

Harry looked up at his three smiling companions, sensing that something was not quite right with the easy comment and he saw in their eyes: all of them were regarding him more heavily than their smiles suggested and he knew the suggestion of air was not for his health, but for privacy.

"Probably right," Harry agreed, very aware that there were a lot of eyes on him, and with as nonchalant a smile as he could manage, he stood up and finished, "Lead the way."

The hair on the back of Harry's neck was standing on end by the time the group had made it out of the common room, and his discomfort did not diminish when he was flanked by Weasleys and Hermione led the way through the castle on a path he knew very well. There was daylight coming through the window beside which he and Hermione had shared their private thoughts, but Harry had received the message loud and clear already and he began somewhat defensively, "What do you want?"

"Missed you at lunch," Ginny returned, her brow furrowed with a concern Harry could have done without.

"Wasn't hungry," he returned shortly, crossing his arms in front of him and glaring.

"We know you were with Malfoy," Ron decided to be direct, which in fact eased Harry's tension a little.

"So?" he shrugged, glancing away none-the-less as the moment tinged with embarrassment.

"He doesn't know you love him, does he?" Hermione was equally blunt and Harry openly stared at her.

He had been avoiding thinking beyond his desires to the deeper emotions that had taken him to the brink of self-destruction and he didn't want to think about them now. If his questioner had been Ron, he might have yelled at him to mind his own business and stormed off, but the quiet moments he had shared with Hermione made denial more difficult.

"Are you going to tell him?" Ginny asked quietly, breaking the uncertain silence.

"Not yet," Harry muttered, turning away from all of them fully this time and staring out of the window.

He was feeling cornered, but not merely by his friends, and Ron hit the nail on the head when he asked, "So you are planning on telling him then?"

"I don't know," Harry replied honestly, the disasters of the previous weekend making him wiser to the trust he could place in his friends.

"You're sleeping with him, Harry!" Ginny exploded with characteristically Weasley exasperation and she joined him leaning on the window ledge.

Harry glanced at his companion, at the consternation in her face and he understood it, but he had no argument for her, instead he just shrugged again and told her, "Sex always came first."

"But it hasn't this time," Hermione was sometimes far too insightful for Harry's comfort.

"You were in pieces a week ago, Mate," Ron was in agreement with Hermione, and his tone was unusually sensitive as he continued, "We just don't want you to get hurt again."

Harry turned back and looked around at the worry before him. He was grateful for his friend's concern, and the fact that Ron's cheeks were also tinged with red told him that this had not been an easy conversation to initiate. However, he did not want to lose the warm feeling inside, not after so long in the doldrums.

"Thank you," he began and felt the corner of his mouth curl with his gratitude. "I don't want to go back to last week either, and I know I'm doing this all in the wrong order, but can I take one step at a time. Draco and I aren't fighting anymore."

"Not openly, but that doesn't mean he's not a dark wizard," Ron revealed his paranoia about Malfoys.

"Grey round the edges," Harry returned, absolutely certain that Draco was not in league with the Death Eaters; he would not betray the confidence he had forced out of his lover, but he saw the disquiet in Ron's eyes, so he added, "I can't tell you how I know this, but I know Draco is not and never was helping his father."

"Maybe not directly, but look at what he's done to the school," Hermione, as always, was looking at the wider picture and Harry remembered the desperate speech she had made to Draco.

"He hasn't said anything since last Saturday, has he?" Harry checked: his own little world of vendettas and lust had been isolated too long not to make sure.

"Not a peep," Ginny agreed, leaning more easily against the wall as the anxiety in her demeanour was replaced with enquiry. "But that could just have been the whole expulsion thing."

"Even if that is what started it, I intend to keep it that way," Harry chose to be definite, the possessive kiss with which he had left Draco firmly in his mind. "Draco has a lot of difficult decisions to make, and I want to help him make them."

"You think he'll listen to you?" Ron didn't sound convinced, and Hermione's face said she was with her boyfriend; Ginny, however, gave Harry a little confidence as her gaze showed him hope.

"I don't know, but I have to try," he finished.

Silence followed the admission as the friends look round at each other, no-one sure how to continue. In the end, it was Ron who broke the impasse, and he was glowing red and unable to meet Harry's eye line as he advised, "If you are going to 'try', then you might want to be more, more," Ron fumbled for a word and Hermione finished for him, "discrete?"

Harry laughed and told them, "That's what Dumbledore said."

"The headmaster has spoken to you about..?" Hermione was aghast and this time she couldn't finish her sentence.

"About sex?" Harry grinned, taking the advantage his friends' discomfiture gave him. "Not directly, that would be assuming we were breaking school rules, but he knew what he was talking about."

"For a covert relationship, you and Draco are being pretty blatant about it," Ginny chided, but not too seriously. "I overheard Pansy and Lavendar comparing notes on the fact that both of you had disappeared at the same time just before lunch."

"A Slytherin and a Gryffindor in cahoots?" Harry snorted. "Maybe we should be even more obvious, get the rest of our two houses talking."

"Pansy was very worried about Draco," Hermione blurted out in response to Harry's levity, and then looked like she had just betrayed a trust.

"You've been talking to Parkinson about this?" Ron accused, and Harry was instinctively uncomfortable about the idea as well.

At the allegation, Hermione's face hardened and she replied, "Well someone had to try and sort out the mess that you boys have been making for yourselves. Most Slytherins don't want to go back to the old days either."

Ron would have blustered, but Harry had spent too long talking to his female friend not to realise the hard few weeks she had been having as well, so he jumped in quickly with, "You'd make a very good diplomat."

Ron's mouth was half open when he stared hard at Harry, who just smiled back, and his best friend clamped his jaw shut, clearly unsure of himself. Hermione, however, had settled at the compliment, and, although her smile was small, it was present as she slipped her hand round Ron's waist. The consternation on Ron's face disappeared almost immediately and Harry was in awe to see feminine wiles at work. He glanced at Ginny, who winked backed at him as in seconds, Ron had his arm around Hermione as well and was looking into her eyes as she told him, "No-one wants war."

"Then no more secret meetings," Ron revealed he wasn't totally taken in by the beauty before him.

"You can come with me if you want," she responded lightly and floored him again; Hermione's answer this time was to kiss her boyfriend on the nose and finish, "Or not."

* * *

The conversation had grown easier from there, subjects turning to lighter matters and the group had begun heading back to the common room. Hermione and Ron were still arm in arm, and led the way, engrossed in each other, and Harry would have just been content to follow, but a hand slipped into the crook of his arm and Ginny slowed his pace. Ginny watched as the gap between their two pairs grew and when it had grown to metres, she drew Harry to a complete halt. The look on his younger friend's face was full of another concern, and Harry did not want to dwell in more awkwardness, so he asked, "What is it?"

Ginny glanced down at her jumper, and her fingers went to the badge that was now pinned there, 'Quidditch Captain', and Harry felt the sting of his demotion as he was reminded of it. Quidditch was his first love, and the role of captain had been an honour that he had treasured. He couldn't hide all the hurt that went with losing that position, and he knew it was in his face as Ginny looked at him.

"I'm sorry I took this away from you," she began quietly, her voice clouded with guilt.

Hurt he may have been, but Ginny's guilt just added to that feeling, and Harry retorted a little more sharply than he had intended, "I lost it, you didn't take it."

"I could go and ask Professor McGonagall to give it back," the young woman interpreted his hostility wrongly.

"Don't be silly," Harry chided and, listening to himself, then took a breath and forced his emotions to the background. "I was an idiot and I paid for it. Nothing to do with you. At least they replaced me with my own choice: McGonagall came to me a while ago and we discussed who would be the next captain, and I recommended you."

Ginny tried not to smile, but Harry saw the curl begin and he smiled back at it.

"It just happened earlier than I expected," he continued. "Congratulations, Ginny, you'll be a great captain, and I'd be honoured to be your seeker if you'll have me."

"Of course I'll have you!" Ginny took heart and her worry evaporated as she responded, "What kind of captain would I be if I got rid of my best player?"

Harry's grin widened at the compliment and his loss dimmed a little.

"Come on, let's catch up with the others before our heads swell too much," he finished and led Ginny up the corridor as they continued to snigger.

* * *

The recklessness of Saturday was replaced with a much more serious Sunday morning, which saw Harry sat at breakfast deep in thought about the future. He had woken early again and lain in the silence, bringing the considerations to the fore, and, although not sombre, he was distracted during the first meal of the day. Draco was still very much an unknown quantity and Harry was well aware that he would require careful handling if they were to have any kind of future at all. Harry had tried to ignore the love he had confessed to his companions when at his lowest ebb, but it had not gone away, and his friends' concerns had made him consider it sooner than maybe his libido would have wished. Still, he allowed himself to hope: Draco had choices to make about his loyalties and his future in the wizarding world, and Harry hoped he could help him make them.

Exactly how to even broach such a subject was the conundrum on which Harry was focusing when a voice drifted down the corridor down which he was walking, "Harry, may I speak with you?"

Harry blinked and realised he was walking straight towards Albus Dumbledore, who was standing at the end of the corridor, as serene as usual. Yesterday's events and his headmaster's request for discretion came instantly to mind; Harry instantly blushed at the thought of another embarrassing conversation and he faltered in his easy stroll.

"I wish to ask a favour of you, and you may decline if you so wish," Dumbledore continued.

That didn't sound like a conversation about discretely breaking school rules and Harry recommenced his journey up to the headmaster, his curiosity piqued.

"What is it, Sir?" he asked, falling in beside his mentor for the second time in a few days, and they began to walk.

"The Ministry have begun a new initiative," the old man explained, his tone somewhat dubious: "an effort to instil wand safety into the wizarding youth."

"Wand safety?" Harry agreed with his companion's unspoken scepticism, and vocalised it in, "Hogwarts teaches that as part of everything."

"Sometimes I wonder at the ability of bureaucracy to create work for itself, Harry," Dumbledore sighed, "but the fact of the matter is that tomorrow afternoon the first and second years will receive a visit from The Wand Clown."

Harry snorted his disdain at the thought of such a person, but then a nasty thought struck him, and he asked in horror, "You don't want me to be the Wand Clown, do you?"

"Good Heavens, no!" the headmaster put Harry's disgust to rest, and then added with a smile, "No, apparently this post has been created by the Ministry and a young gentlemen by the name of Tarquin Doscara is filling those shoes. However, he has requested that due to your unique perspective on this matter, that you should be present to talk with the children."

For a second, Harry did not follow the reasoning behind such a request, but then he saw the cast of his mentor's eyes down to his right hand. He had never been self-conscious of the scars there, but as Harry looked down at the ghosts of the damage that had been inflicted, he realised what the Ministry was asking: they were asking that he talk about the terrible experience that had caused the scars.

"But this wasn't due to an accident," he objected defensively, "I'm not some cautionary tale."

"I believe that Tarquin would like you to discuss and answer questions on the consequences of such injuries, rather than how they occurred," Dumbledore corrected.

Harry was distinctly uneasy about broaching such a subject. Recovering from his injuries had been a long and painful process by wizarding standards, and coupled with the torture that had gone before the desperate act that had destroyed his enemy, the prospect was not a welcome one.

"You may refuse, My Boy," his companion offered a way out. "I fully understand that this may be a difficult subject for you."

The escape route made Harry feel like a coward, and he looked at the pale marks on his hand as he asked, "Do you think this is useful?"

"In terms of wand safety, I believe it to be a mere reinforcement of our own curriculum," Dumbledore replied, and Harry glanced up as he heard the but coming, "but I believe it may be beneficial to your relationship to the younger members of our school."

Harry frowned, again not sure what was being implied.

"You and Draco frightened many of them, Harry, and such fear is not healthy. This is an opportunity for you to make amends to them," his headmaster was nothing if not direct.

"Then I'll do it," Harry decided, still nervous, but seeing the value.

"Thank you," Dumbledore returned earnestly. "I shall inform the Ministry of your decision."

* * *

Draco had laughed when Harry had told him about The Wand Clown, but he had been darkly silent when Harry had tried to use the good feeling to discuss his thoughts about his confrontation with Voldemort. The attempt at honest communication a failure, Harry had tried to put his concerns out of his mind, but he was still nervous as he walked up to the Great Hall where the juniors had been gathered mid-afternoon. He didn't know what to expect, the Ministry's information being decidedly vague about the actual content of their newest idea, but what greeted him as he opened the door and walked in was a party.

The house tables had been moved to the four edges of the room, the one in front of the raised teacher's platform being laid with food and drink that was more suited to one of the annual feasts. Children being children, all of the pupils were around the table with cups and handfuls of snacks, and chattering excitedly. A group of first years, Harry judged by their size, were also formed around a tall man in brightly-coloured robes. His face was painted in equally lurid colours and his wand had tassels, so it was a fairly safe bet for Harry that he was looking at The Wand Clown. The man turned as Harry closed the door and smiled, the exaggerated red lips on his face making him look like his grin went from ear to ear.

"Harry Potter, welcome," the clown greeted, striding over to the door and succeeding in making sure the entire room knew he had entered.

Harry shook the over-enthusiastic hand that was offered, and smiled blandly. Then he looked over the man's shoulder at a mixture of awe and disquiet: only Jono looked pleased to see him.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," The Wand Clown spun on his heel and waved an expressive arm at his audience while dragging Harry further into the room, "Please welcome our speaker for today, Harry Potter."

A lacklustre round of applause followed, and Harry kept his bland smile in place until his host released him. He was very glad when the clown let him go and dragged everyone's attention with him as he strode over to a large, also multi-coloured mat, which was set in the space nearest the top table.

"And now everyone is here, we can begin. First of all, everybody place your wands on the table to your left," the man announced, once again using big, sweeping gestures to point out the table against the left wall.

That gained a few dubious looks, especially from the second years who had had longer to grow attached to their wands.

"Now, now," their host tutted, wagging his finger at the distrust, "we will be using our wands later, but for now we must put them away."

The clown strode over to the table: an exaggerated trip sent him sprawling into a very athletic roll, and he came to standing again in front of the table, at which point he dramatically placed his own wand on its wooden surface. That received some giggles and Harry decided that since he was there to help, it was worth a round of applause. Nervous of him they may have been, but Harry's lead was taken by the rest of the students, and after he had taken a bow, the clown winked at Harry in gratitude. The resistance to relinquishing wands dissolved and soon they were all lined up in their different colours and sizes on the table.

Once that was done, with a cartwheel and another tumble, The Wand Clown took himself to the centre of the coloured mat. Bouncing on his toes, his arms out and his face set in a bright grin, the man announced, "Join me, My Friends, and we shall begin."

Harry assumed he was not included in the round up, and stood by the table, watching as the juniors slowly made their way to the mat. He did not remember too much about his attitude as a second year, but when he saw most of their faces, he did recall that he would also have considered himself too old for clowns. Many of the first years, however, were clearly taken by their unusual host, and eagerly settled down on the comfortable mat in front of him. When all were seated, The Wand Clown began, "Today we are here to learn some important lessons about wand safety. Your wand," the man waved his hand and a second wand shot out from his sleeve into his waiting palm, much to the delight of his convertees, "is a wonderful tool. With one wave, we can have flowers," a rain of petals showered down over the group, which gained a few giggles from the girls. "Or we can have sweets." When they found chocolate bouncing into their laps, that produced a better reaction from the boys as well. "But!"

Harry took a rapid step backwards into the table when there was a loud pop and the wand in the clown's hand split into many strands, curling back over his hand and send shoots of smoke and confetti out into the room. Those with faster reactions on the mat also ducked as the smell of sulphur hit them.

"If not handled correctly, it can be very dangerous," Tarquin finished in a much lower and more serious tone.

He took the dead wand in his other hand and held out his white-gloved palm for all to see; it was covered in smuts, and the reaction from the children was intakes of breath as the demonstration hit home.

"Now, who wants to learn about Wand Safety?" the clown asked.

Every single head nodded.

* * *

Within a few minutes, Harry was more than impressed with Tarquin Doscara: the man was good at what he did, a mixture of entertaining and presenting of information. He had an endless supply of wands in his robes, and, it seemed to Harry, an endless set of warnings of 'what can happen if'. Yet the juniors were avidly interested in what he had to say, enjoying his tumbling and bad jokes, while taking the demonstrations he was making to heart. Slapstick was a very good way of showing the many and varied accidents that could be produced from the mishandling of a wand, and the clown's robes and face were covered in smuts very quickly. Harry would have enjoyed the show as well, but for the fact that every time one of the trick wands exploded, a chill ran right through him. He didn't know if he was imagining the aching in his hand or not, but whether real or psychosomatic, Harry knew his body was reminding him of the consequences of blowing up a wand.

Tarquin was a man of frenetic activity, whether delivering warnings or humour, and when he suddenly came to a halt, he surprised Harry, and from the way they also froze, the juniors as well.

"My folly is not real, my wands are toys," the man began with a seriousness that had been missing from even his warnings, "but today, we have someone with us who knows what it is really like. We are very lucky that Harry had agreed to come and talk to us about this."

The Wand Clown held out his arm in Harry's direction and, with a jolt, Harry realised he was up.

"My Friends, I will be back with you later, but now, I give you, Harry Potter."

Harry swallowed the lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat and walked over to the mat. He swapped places with Tarquin. For a moment he looked down at all the faces that stared up at him in awe and then, Harry chose action. Slowly, he unbuttoned the cuff of his school shirt and pulled it up off his arm. Holding out the evidence of the damage done by exploding holly, he told them, "This is what happened to me when my wand blew up."

Some of the juniors were wincing as they looked at the sporadic scarring which went almost to Harry's elbow, but others were open-eyed in morbid curiosity. Not sure how he felt about either attitude, Harry made sure each and every child saw his injuries. Once the display had been made, he let his sleeve fall back down his arm, which did not stop some of the bolder juniors from staring at his hand, and he announced, "I'm not good at lectures, so I thought I'd just answer any questions you have."

Awkward silence and some shuffling: not a good start. Harry was desperately trying to think of something to say when finally a lone hand shot up. Harry smiled gratefully at Jono and was asked, "Did it hurt?"

Some of his fellow pupils thought that was a daft question, and their groans said so, and others clearly had decided it was inappropriate. However, it was easy to answer, and Harry returned, "Yes, a lot. It still aches now when it gets cold."

The ice had been broken, and it was a Ravenclaw who waggled her hand next. Thankfully someone had thought to provide all the pupils with large name badges, so Harry addressed her directly with, "Yes, Daisy?"

"What damage did the explosion actually do?"

"It shattered all the bones in my hand and wrist; the shards of wood sliced several tendons and most of the main blood vessels as well," Harry explained bluntly, glancing down at what were really very minor scars for such horrific injuries.

There was a collective intake of breath from the room, and there was no hand waving as the next enquiry came, "But they mended it alright?"

Harry fixed the hopeful boy with a stare, his emotions piquing on that point, but then he saw the fear behind the question and told the room, "I was very, very lucky. At first my healers considered amputation because there was so much damage, but they decided to try and restore the blood supply. They were very skilled people and it worked, so then they set about fixing the tendons and bones. It took four days, and they kept me unconscious while they did it because it would have hurt too much."

Harry didn't mention that at the time the injuries to his hand had been only one of the groups of wounds that his healers had been treating: children didn't need to know about the horrors of torture or unforgivable spells.

"Was it fixed then?" one of the second years piped up.

Harry shook his head, trying to recall the hazy days in St Mungos without the emotions that had gone with them. His voice faltered, though, when he replied, "No, I couldn't move it for weeks. No-one knew how much movement I'd get back. Again I was very lucky to have such skilled healers. They gave me exercises and slowly..."

Harry's words ran out for a moment and a shiver ran right through his body. It was the strangest feeling as his emotions displaced his ability to speak, but in a second it was gone.

"...slowly the movement came back," he finished, mentally shaking himself.

A hand waved this time, and Harry looked in the direction of all people, a Slytherin, and he saw the girl's lips move, but another shiver made the world slip sideways and back in and he did not hear her.

"Sorry," he shook himself again, "can you repeat..."

This time it was not shiver, a lance of pain ran right through Harry and he fell to his knees with a grunt of shock. The pain was from his magic, daggering out from his core and he dug his fingers into the mat as a second convulsion ripped through his body.

"Harry?" Jono's voice made him look up, and the boy was reaching out to him.

"Don't touch," he warned, not sure what was happening, but feeling his magic rising to the surface.

His friend froze in the half reach and Harry lost sight of him as another demand was made on his power and he closed his eyes with the pain. There was murmuring from the group, and then Harry heard one of the juniors demand, "What are you doing?!"

He forced his way through the pain and looked up at the questioner, but the girl was not looking at him, she was looking over his shoulder. Harry glanced backwards and was presented with Tarquin Doscara, wand aimed directly at him. The man's visage was set into a nasty look of triumph and his mouth was moving furiously; Harry curled over helplessly as his magic broke out of his body without his consent. It was agony: Harry's Freehand instincts tried to hold on to the power, but whatever was being cast decimated his abilities and he did another's bidding.

The mat below him began to glow: dark symbols he'd only seen in Defence Against the Dark Arts, or in the company of Death Eaters appeared in front of Harry and he knew he had been betrayed. He forced his head up and looked at the children in front of him, who were all battling horrified indecision and he yelled, "Run!"

That's when the screaming started and small bodies dashed in all directions. Harry could not follow the flight, however, since another demand drew him into the foetal position at the centre of a very potent circle. He was out of control, his magic coursing to a pied piper whose motives he did not know. It was too late to claw back the raw power which fed the brightening runes around him, and all Harry could do was react.

He screamed as a blanket of his own magic tore his cells apart and convulsed physically as that power was dragged into the spell already written on the mat. Suddenly there was a crack close to him, and Harry opened his eyes to see feet appearing on the edge of the mat. They instantly sped into a run, and another crack followed the first. Harry shuddered with each apparation, two, three, four, but the shuddering hurt was nothing when compared with the lightning that sliced through Harry as the fifth crack sounded in his ears.

The power froze all his muscles, his jaw clamping tight and he knew he was going to die. Still, he fought the mind-numbing death and, six and seven arrived as the attack blinded Harry; eight and nine as he finally recognised the source: Hogwarts. The castle was defending itself brutally, trying to destroy the spell that had broken through its barriers and Harry agreed with it. He knew this magic, it had opened to him and given him refuge, and he did not want to fight it. Ten and eleven joined the hubbub as Harry reached out like he had after the row with Ron; on twelve, Freehand and castle became one and the spell shattered.

The crack of the last apparation was different from the others, dull and accompanied by a scream of horror. Hogwarts' power withdrew from him in a heartbeat, and his own magic hit him like a burst of energy; Harry rolled rapidly onto all fours in time to see a wizard flying into the wall and then all his instincts fired. He was hurting and his muscles felt like water, but survival was a potent inducer, especially when Harry looked round and knew he was surround by Death Eaters. Men and women in silver masks and black clothing were pursuing terrified, defenceless children. Harry threw his efforts behind a fireball and aimed it at a man who was chasing a group of kids nearest the door. It missed, slamming into the wall, but the chaser was knocked off his feet, the children made it to the door and the school bells began ringing.

Harry dived out of the way of a stunner as one of the man's colleagues retaliated and his training in the Room of Requirement came into play. His shield slid into place with well-practised efficiency, and, thanks to Malfoy, aware of its shortcomings, Harry went on the attack. The many armed Machina Martialis was now nearly a dozen Death Eaters, but Harry applied the same principals and he threw his own stunner at the nearest enemy and side-stepped another attack. His target collapsed in an unconscious heap and at least half of the intruders decided that Harry Potter was their best focus of attention, leaving a few colleagues to round up the juniors.

Harry resisted one spell, his shield sparking with its impact, and he threw out a couple of blasters, but then another attack hit his weakened shield and the stunner ran up his arm into his body. It wasn't enough to knock him out, but Harry fell to his knees, winded by the hex and someone yelled, "Grab him!"

Already weakened from Doscara's spell, Harry couldn't find his equilibrium before two large men grabbed him by the arms and hauled him to his feet. He struggled, but they lifted him bodily off the ground, sweeping his backwards and slamming him down on one of the tables. The sharp pain of hitting wood meant that Harry's instincts reacted without him, and his magic thrust outwards. His holders swore, falling away and Harry fought with his disoriented body to be able to sit up, but he had barely made a sitting position when the same muffled voice he recognised cast, "Debilito!"

Harry thought of Draco as the curse hit him and he collapsed back onto the long table. By the time he could even move again there were four men holding him and Harry's struggles barely tested them. He wriggled and shifted, but grips dug into his limbs and pushed him hard against the table. He was helpless when another Death Eater moved in, drawing something from within his long robe. Harry only realised it was a tiny bottle when the man unstoppered it and pushed it to his lips. He turned his head rapidly to the side, something cold dripping onto his cheek, and fought even harder.

"Harry!" Jono's young voice called to him, and around a captor's body he saw his friend turning from where he had made it to the door.

"No!" Harry warned as the boy came running back towards him, but it was too late and he writhed in desperation as he saw his friend scooped up by another of his enemies.

Pinned, Harry could do nothing to free himself and he froze completely as the point of a wand was placed against Jono's temple. A hand grabbed his hair, turning his face back to greet its owner, and there was no mask anymore; Harry's blood turned to ice as he looked up at Lucius Malfoy. Lucius' grimace could not be considered a smile, but it was the look of a victor and he held out the small blue bottle, saying, "Unless you want your young friend to learn all about unforgivable curses, drink."

Harry gave no resistance as the bottle was tipped to his lips once more and a potion that held the chill of winter coated his tongue. He choked as it hit the back of his throat, but swallowed reactively and the grey of a dull day settled over his senses. The effect made his lids heavy and the world drifted to a distance, where the screaming of frightened children was muffled. All the strength he had left went into staying awake, Harry's concern for Jono forcing that at least. His captors let go of him and he lay where he was left like a rag doll and looked up at Lucius through half-closed eyes.

"Get those doors barred," Malfoy barked at his people, "and get those brats into a group."

Harry didn't even have the energy to look away when Lucius lorded triumph over him. He hadn't seen this man since the night at the Department of Mysteries and he had hoped never to see him again. He saw hatred and his own destruction in the Malfoy ice-blue gaze, and his only hope for survival was that he was currently still breathing.

"Hold his head," Malfoy finally turned to one of the death eaters still surrounding him.

The grip was totally unnecessary, but the man obeyed his leader and Harry watched as Lucius drew out a larger pot from his robes and dipped his thumb into it. For a moment, Harry's distorted senses thought he saw blood on the digit that was pulled from the fluid, but it was thicker than that. He tensed as one hand removed his glasses and then burgundy dye was lowered to his face with which Malfoy drew something on his forehead. For a moment there was nothing, only a dampness which took a while to penetrate the winter mist already in his bones. Yet when it did, the sensation slipped under his skin and for the second time in a few minutes, Harry felt his magic rising. It ran more slowly this time, the winter potion's effects wrapping around his power, stifling it, but still it was drawn to the surface and it hit his skin: Harry screamed. Fire lanced through his flesh as his magic hit the mark on his forehead and scattered into a thousand pinpricks.

Now Harry moved, his strength born from the pain, and he reached up to wipe at the source of his hurt. He was grabbed afresh by his captors, but his movements were reactive, so he continued to thrash as Malfoy continued to draw. First on his cheeks, then his neck and then Lucius ripped open Harry's shirt and made his marks on his chest. With each stroke the fire grew worse, his own magic this time, not Hogwarts', rising to the surface and tearing his nerve fibres to shreds.

Even after Lucius had drawn his last stroke, the burning kept going, turning his magic against him and Harry screamed in fear as well as pain. If this was death, his enemy had found a terrible ending for him; if it was not, then life was even more terrifying. There was nothing Harry could do to calm the firestorm, and he writhed helplessly.

Yet something else offered him hope.

Harry felt the winter rising from his bones as well, its chill mist embracing the fire, drawing it back down away from him. At first it was a relief, as his magic was brought slowly under control, and gradually Harry relaxed, exhausted by the torture. Yet the cold did not merely draw his magic away from the surface, it locked it away behind its icy grip and the pain was replaced with a skin-crawling loss. Harry knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he had been bound by the potion, and that was almost as frightening as the thought of death, but for now he was alive, weak and disoriented, but alive, and life took precedence. The mists settled on his mind as well, and he had no energy to fight them: half in relief and half in surrender, Harry passed out.  
  



	28. Conflicts of Interest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betrayed, Harry becomes the prisoner of Malfoy Senior and Junior.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [beren_writes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/beren/pseuds/beren), my excellent beta reader

Harry woke because his body was moving without his consent. He was sliding rapidly forward and instinct told him he would fall off the table, but as he tensed, his collar was grabbed and the momentum instead was used to haul him to standing. The winter mists stopped Harry from reacting quickly, and coupled with the fact that his muscles were still like water, he immediately began to collapse. Again, someone else's strength directed his movements and arms slid under his, stopping the descent. Then there was someone on either side and Harry had no choice when he was marched blindly forward, the world turning round and round as his senses refused to sort themselves out.

He just about made out Lucius, because of his flash of blond hair, as he was dragged towards him, and there was a child-sized shape beside his enemy, but Harry did not know who it was until he was dropped at Malfoy's feet. He dropped like a stone, his coordination nonexistent and he would have stayed on all fours where his distraction left him, but for the fact that Lucius grabbed him by the hair and pulled him up into a kneeling position against his legs. Harry was held on the opposite side to the child and as the pain of having his hair pulled out at the roots woke him a little, Harry made out Jonathan's wide, frightened eyes looking at him.

"Our young friend here is exaggerating, Albus, as you can see, Potter is not dead," Malfoy sneered his triumph and slowly, Harry's senses made out figures ahead of him.

He had not been able to orient himself on waking, but the mists parted enough for Harry to recognise the large doors into the hall and one of the people stood at them was clearly Professor Dumbledore.

"What have you done to him?" a voice other than the headmaster's asked, and only by his tone did Harry recognise Auror Anquir, since his senses were too dim for visual recognition.

"Well, I can't have a Freehand running amuck," Lucius gloated, pulling Harry more harshly into his body as he did so. "Just a little binding to make sure he's pliable."

The intake of breath from Anquir said all that Harry couldn't: Malfoy had managed what Aleyn had not.

"All very temporary, I can assure you," Lucius offered a ray of hope to the helpless Freehand. "Potter will be his annoying self again if you meet our demands."

Ironically, Harry had no idea what those demands were.

"That is not all you have done, though, is it, Lucius?" Dumbledore's calm, powerful tones woke Harry a little more, and he managed to look up at his mentor.

He wasn't sure what the headmaster's expression said, he could not see it clearly enough, but to know that he was being regarded by his respected friend instilled courage in Harry that had been chased away by the winter binding.

"Notae Suadelae, well done, Albus," Lucius taunted and a second hand swept back Harry's fringe, displaying the mark that Harry could still feel prickling against his skin.

"The Runes of Persuasion have been outlawed for four centuries," Anquir objected.

Lucius laughed and snarled back, "You people are weak, you have lost the stomach for what is necessary. Merely because Veritaserum provides an alternative for extracting the truth does not mean the notae may not be useful in other areas. Potter is going to provide us all with a count down. As you can see, there are enough notae on Potter to rip him apart with his own magic. However, the binding potion is currently preventing that from happening. Each dose lasts approximately an hour, and I have twelve more doses."

Harry heard the chinking of glass on glass and he felt the air move as Lucius released his fringe and moved aside robes.

"That means Potter has about twelve and a half hours before he becomes very uncomfortable, and maybe another half before he blows apart, and I can assure you he will be seated amongst your unfortunate pupils, Albus; he may maim quite a few. I suggest you accede to my demands well before then."

That his death was coming did not surprise Harry, but it scared him. He did not know what the demands were that his enemy was making, but he was torn between hoping they would be met and hoping there was another way out of the situation. His world was cold and uncomfortable, and he was feeling sick and weak as the two alien magics in his system fought for control. It was an effort even to concentrate enough to follow the conversation, and he faded away from the world, his eyes almost closing. His captor's words became distant and muffled. It wasn't until there was a loud crash that it startled Harry out of his daze; it was the doors closing with a wave of Lucius' wand.

As soon as the panels slammed shut, Lucius released Harry, who sunk onto his heels and just about managed to keep his torso upright by falling sideways onto his hand. He was near collapsing when the two Death Eaters who had delivered him to their master grabbed him once more and hauled him to his feet. He was moving before he could coordinate his reactions and thus he was practically dragged back across the hall. In the open space, two of the tables had now been arranged in a 'V' facing the raised platform, and the blurr of heads in front of him told Harry he was being taken round and in to a corral of the juniors.

Bodies parted as Lucius led the way between silently terrified youngster, right to the junction of the tables, and then Harry was thrown to the floor. The force was unnecessary, he had no energy to show defiance, but the demonstration drew murmurs of fear from the children as it was meant to. Harry managed to catch himself before his chin hit the stone floor, but his arms would not push him back up off the chilly surface. He would have stayed there, cold within and cold without, searching for enough strength to move, but Lucius was impatient with his whipping boy.

"Against the table legs," he ordered, and Harry was once again moved without his consent: the two Death Eaters spun him over and slid him into a sitting position against the thick legs of the two tables, bashing his head against the lip of the table as they did do.

Harry shrank at the pain and his crown slid under the slender overhang on the second attempt. He was then left to his own devices for a few seconds, during which time he managed to steady himself, but then he froze as the point of a wand dug into the soft skin under his chin. Lucius took his time crouching down to Harry's level, and then he gloated; Harry just looked back at him, uncertain as to whether he could hide his fear from his enemy. He hoped that the narrowing of Malfoy's eyes meant that he had succeeded.

"Now we have a little time to talk, Potter, let me guess what you are thinking," Lucius taunted, digging the wand in a little more, forcing Harry to raise his head. "You must be wondering why you are still alive."

In fact, his mind was working so slowly, Harry had only managed to reach a point where he was grateful for still being alive. He said nothing and Lucius smiled, covering the failure of his taunt.

"Don't you have anything to say to me, Potter? It's been so long," Lucius continued to prod, both metaphorically and physically; more silence, and Harry wondered if his enemy was trying to stab him with the wand. "I was most disappointed to discover that you were a Freehand, not a Squib, but I was never one to let an opportunity pass me by. You played a very useful part in our entry, thank you. It was a surprise to us all when my people discovered that normal magical barriers can be more vulnerable to Freehand magic than other forms. My people had wondered if you would survive the apparation spell, but we know each other better than that, don't we Harry? Your annoying habit of surviving despite the best efforts of your betters inspired me to prepare this little diversion to while away the time."

Harry could see the madness in Lucius' eyes with chilling clarity: this was not even the same fanatic he had last faced, this was a creature turned to the most extreme of extreme, much less presentable than the politician who had groomed Draco. Thanks to Azkaban and life on the run, Lucius was wild round the edges, his hair much longer than it had once been and unstyled, his clothing chosen for its utility rather than its fineness. There had once been a trade-off of conformity with the status quo and secret needs in this man, but that was gone, only the much more public zeal for a cause remained. Harry knew he was part of that cause and he did not fancy his chances of survival. He saw nothing but hate in his enemy's stare. Silence seemed the best policy.

"Two forces are fighting for control of your body, one to break you apart and one to lock your magic away from you," Malfoy gloated, every word hammering home a nail of Harry's coffin. "Even if you feel the urge, do not try using your magic: the notae won't like it and you will speed your demise. Trouble me in any way and I will withhold the potion," Lucius then threatened, waving one of the small blue vials in front of Harry's eyes. "And in case you are feeling like being a martyr: your destruction will cause far more damage to these little ones than any exploding wand. Am I clear?"

Harry glanced around at the silent, scared faces nearby and he mourned the loss of innocence he saw there. A prod under his chin redirected his slow attention to Lucius and also told Harry he was supposed to respond, and so he forced a single, shallow nod. That pleased Lucius; well, he smiled anyway. However, he wasn't finished with Harry. The wand was removed from his chin, but Harry remained tense as Malfoy reached for his neck. His captor grabbed his tie, which had been swept halfway under his collar when his shirt had been ripped open, and pulled it off.

"Hands," Lucius ordered, and Harry realised his own clothing was going to be used to further bind him.

He did as he was told, leaning back onto the table legs and holding out his hands, crossing them at the wrists.

"Good boy!" Lucius condescended at the proactive offering, and then wrapped Harry's red and gold tie tightly around his wrists.

A second and a wave of wand later and Harry's wrists were fixed to the edge of the table, another discomfort to add to the collection plaguing him. Yet it was a relief when Lucius climbed back to his feet. Harry was cautious enough to force his attention to remain on his enemy, however, and shortly he was proved right. Harry tensed, his instinctive reaction to move to the aid of a friend when suddenly Lucius grabbed Jono, who was kneeling close by. He took firm hold of his ear, making him cry out with the shock, but Harry froze once more as his adversary's wand played at the boy's temple.

"Don't try and be noble, Potter," Lucius sneered at the start of the movement, "I have made sure you aren't capable. And this little protégé of yours will be the first to suffer if you displease me. Keep him in check as well, or I will."

With that, the zealot practically threw Jono at Harry and stalked off. His friend landed in Harry's lap, and as he scrambled off his legs, Harry could feel his shaking. He did not wish to draw any more attention to their group, so he just waited for Jono to look his way and then he mouthed, "Are you alright?"

The kid's face was set in a grimace somewhere between anger and fear, but he nodded, glancing over at the assembling Death Eaters and then nodding once more when he looked back at Harry. He then mouthed back something which Harry took as a reciprocal enquiry. In truth, Harry's body was nearly as sensitive as it had been with the hangover, and coupled with the rising and falling of his magic as the potion and runes fought for control, he was feeling very ill. Yet that wasn't what Jono wanted to know and so Harry nodded slowly again before he deliberately looked over the boy's shoulder to the activities of their captors.

Harry could make out the shining of the Death Eater's silver masks from many of the vague, black outlines he could see at points around the room. Only two did not glint: Lucius was obvious with his sheer blond hair, and the other was brightly coloured, clearly Tarquin, who was removing his own disguise from his face with a cloth. If Jono was to be interpreted as Harry's tyro, then it was clear to the Freehand that Tarquin was Lucius'. The two men stood together at the centre of their empire, and Lucius was laughing while shaking the fake clown's hand and patting him on the back. Harry didn't want to watch his enemies congratulate themselves, so he let his eyes close and the weariness in his bones instantly rose up to claim him. His last sensation was of his head lolling forward and then he drifted away from the world.

* * *

Waking up was more than uncomfortable, and Harry came out of his daze with a mew on his lips as prickles of fire ran up and down his body. He was freezing, but his shirt was sticking to his body with sweat and he couldn't stop shivering. The notae's influence was strong, almost as strong as it had been when Lucius had applied them, and Harry whined again as his skin burnt on head and chest. There was movement close by and Harry managed to concentrate on Jono much more clearly than he had earlier as the runes brought the world back into painful focus. His mind was working faster as well and he shook his head at his friend as Jono reached out to him in concern, remembering the warning of the runes' effects from Lucius.

Yet, this was not Harry's end, merely an interlude, and Jono was swept aside as Lucius strode quickly over to their group. He knelt and grabbed Harry's chin, lifting it and examining what he saw.

"You're a little early, Potter," Lucius told him, his eyes narrowing on Harry, "but then we did lose some of the potion thanks to your obstinacy."

The relief Harry felt as he watched his enemy reach into his robes was a strange feeling: the binding was horrible and frightening, but it was life, and Harry did not want to die. He did not turn away this time when a second small bottle was unstoppered and held to his mouth; he drank. The fluid was like molten ice, but the chill was not like that from the cold sweat, it was magical, insidious, and it clamped onto his soul immediately. Harry choked and shuddered as the runes lost their strength once more, shrinking in the face of the devastating winter of the binding potion. He hung from his bonds, his own strength dying with that of the notae and, without his resistance, in seconds, the fresh potion had taken away the world.

* * *

When he woke again, Harry was warmer, at least superficially, and he discovered that he had been draped in school robes, at least three. When he raised his head, he found himself surrounded by half a dozen youngsters, who were sat three either side of him, closer than was healthy if the potion failed. Jono was closest to him on the right, and he glanced at him as Harry roused, for which Harry was grateful, but after a glance, his interest slipped guiltily back to another event over Harry's shoulder. Harry was still feeling dozy, his senses heavy, and he guessed it had not been long enough for the second dose to wear off, and so he followed the others' focus, shifting as much as he could to look at the main doors. Harry couldn't see much, there being bodies and table in the way and his angle was a strain, but he realised why he had woken when he heard Professor Dumbledore talking to Lucius. Anything further than a few feet from him was fuzzy for Harry, so he had difficulty hearing what was said, but he gathered slowly that it was a continuation of the conversation to which he had been party earlier.

From his tone, Lucius was gloating again, something he seemed to be enjoying far more than was prudent, and Harry, gritting his teeth, hoped such over confidence would be the man's downfall. His suppressed attentions would have drifted away from the negotiations, but suddenly, into the mundane sounds came the noise of spells being cast and Harry recognised the voice that cast, "Avada Kedavra!"

Harry shrunk in horror as he heard Draco and the green flash of the unforgivable curse lit up the corner of the room. Someone outside screamed his last, possibly Anquir, but Harry couldn't be sure, and then the children began to panic. Some began to cry, all huddling together, terrified by the new commotion, and two Death Eaters at the head of their corral waving their wands did not help the situation. However, all of Harry's focus was now on the door, his heart racing and his mind begging the world to let him have heard wrongly. Yet he hadn't, and concerns that had been left outside the hall when survival took over now embroiled themselves with the rest of Harry's degradation as Draco came dashing through the doors.

The son ran straight into his father's arms, followed by the red flash of a stunner, but Lucius quickly held up his hand to the door and threatened, "Any more and I will blow this room apart and contaminate this school for a hundred generations."

No more came through the door, and under Lucius' direction, the doors slammed shut on the outside world. The doors also closed on Harry's hope for the future: Draco had finally chosen, and blood had proven thicker than lust. Harry couldn't watch, he relaxed back into the position in which his bonds wanted him and dropped his eyes to his knees as parent and child greeted each other.

"Father," Draco spoke with reverence and breathy excitement in his tone.

"My Son, welcome," Lucius responded, clear pride and joy saying everything the short statement did not.

Harry kept his eyes to the floor when he heard footsteps walking past the corral, knowing his emotions were all over his face. Yet the Malfoys were thankfully, not interested in him, and as they walked round in front of the tables, Lucius asked with annoyance, "Something displeases you, Tarquin?"

Harry looked up at that and his bleary vision made out Doscara glaring at Draco before looking more nervously at Lucius, who had his arm firmly around his son's shoulders. Doscara was either brave, or foolhardy, when he finally voiced, "We can't trust Draco."

Lucius did not explode immediately as Harry expected, instead he looked more disappointed than anything else. However, his tone was menacing when he replied, "Draco has more than proved his allegiance, whatever the past may have been."

Harry stopped breathing as the gathered company were suddenly looking at him. Draco fixed him with a look that hid none of the passion that was between them, and it fixed him with hard edges that reminded him of dark hallways and the hounding of the previous term. Harry knew he was still an object of desire, but that Draco would show it confused him; he trusted none of what he was seeing. He felt like a show-dog as Draco turned fully to him, bringing Lucius round with him and offered, "You seem to have the measure of Potter, Father."

Lucius' lip curled, but he also seemed uncertain about the blatant lust in Draco's stance.

"You and I, we both have obsessions about Potter," Draco continued, matter-of-fact in tone, if not in the way he was running his eyes over Harry. "You want to hurt him, make him pay for the trouble he has caused. My wants lie in other directions, but with a more permanent solution to binding him, I don't see why we can't satisfy them both."

At that, Lucius laughed and Harry shrank some more. As father slapped child on the back, and Draco grinned widely, still eyeing Harry, the object of both obsessions looked away, unable to face his puppet masters.

"I think you hit a nerve, Draco," Lucius commented proudly.

"I know how to hit a lot of Potter's nerves now," Draco replied and then Harry heard the sound of leather on stone.

That made Harry angry, but the group was already turning away when he glanced back up, and his attempt at defiance fell flat. Only Draco was still watching him, and then only for a moment, his gaze all lust that reminded Harry of the heat between them when they had played at this kind of game at New Year: Draco was clearly still playing. Reality, however, was much more of an issue for Harry, and he was faced with five worried pairs of eyes on him, and one very angry pair. Jono looked like he was about to throttle someone and he hissed, "Don't take any notice of them."

Harry nodded silently, more for his friend's sake than his own. With Draco's look in mind, he knew now that his fate was sealed: no matter what happened to the rest of them, the Malfoys were going to find a way to make him suffer, whether that was through death, or slavery to two masters.

* * *

Harry didn't realise he'd fallen asleep again until a dig in the ribs woke him up. It was Jono, who was looking concerned and was pointing over to the far end of the room next to the raised teachers' platform. Everything was returning to focus and Harry drew in a breath as the sleep left and was replaced by the prickling of the notae. He could just make out Lucius reaching into the part of his robes where he kept the vials of potion, and it was obvious to whom he would be giving a bottle. His magic may have been running riot below the winter mists, and where it broke through, the pain was excruciating, but the last person Harry wanted to make the pain go away was Draco Malfoy. Yet that was who took the bottle and came striding towards the group of prisoners.

Everyone moved out of the way, even Harry's allies, all except Jonathan, who stayed by Harry's side and glared. Harry was grateful for the support, and he did not want the child to move, but when Draco stopped at Harry's feet and smiled back at the defiance in the young Gryffindor, Harry knew he could not stay.

"Out of my way," Draco ordered, clearly confident in his authority.

However, Jono looked to Harry at the command and his expression showed he didn't want to move.

"It's alright," Harry managed, his voice no more than a whisper in a dry throat.

Reluctantly, his friend moved away and with even more reticence, Harry looked up to meet his captor's gaze. He knew this game, he'd enjoyed it before, only now the bindings holding his wrists were not toys and this was no playact: Harry felt every inch the slave as his master gloated over him. Yet, he was defiant. He would not show how much Malfoy was hurting him, and Harry used the fire in his veins to inspire a little anger.

If the anger got through the wintry binding then Draco did not seem to notice, he just straddled Harry's outstretched legs and slowly sunk to his knees. Harry tensed as thigh rubbed thigh and he saw the indulgent enjoyment that generated in his tormentor. He could not hold on to his disgust and he snarled, "Get lost, Malfoy."

"Now, now, Harry," Draco responded whimsically, settling onto his legs none-the-less, "I am the only person in this room that matters who cares if you live or die. Hadn't you better treat me with some respect?"

The threat, however lightly given, was all too clear, and Harry froze in his tense, uncomfortable position and just glared. Draco smiled widely at that and commented with approval, "So you do have a survival instinct; must be the Slytherin side I've been cultivating in you."

Harry said nothing: his blood was boiling along with his magic, but he had already been warned that his actions would reflect on the children, so he just hoped his humiliation would be over soon. He was acutely aware that most of the room was watching Draco subjugate him, and his feeling of exposure rose exponentially when his ex-lover took hold of his chin and lifted his face up. The gesture was much the same as the one used by Lucius, but the link between them made the move much more intimate.

"Let's take a look at you," Draco muttered to himself, and the disdainful gaze began at his forehead.

Harry ground his teeth: it was not going to be over quickly.

"Ingenious, Father," Draco called over his shoulder, superficially, at least, examining the runes on Harry.

Yet Harry felt it was much more than dark markings that were being revealed when Draco pulled back the warming robes and slipped apart his shirt. He shivered both with cold and disgust as his tormentor took his time with the humiliation. Harry dropped his eyes for a moment, but that only led Draco to run one finger over a rune that happened to pass close to his nipple, and as he tensed, he glared back at Malfoy.

Harry stared hard at his ex-lover, trying to bore a hole in his face with his eyes, but the cast of Draco's gaze was downward at his chest, and so he just kept staring. Harry's focus meant that he saw every line of Draco's face, and slowly, as he glared longer, something didn't feel right. There was lust in Malfoy's features, that much was certain, but the emotion did not reach Draco's eyes. 'Draco's eyes'; that didn't sit well, and it took Harry a while to realise why. What hit Harry first was the colour, they were black, not ice grey, and then, as he watched them flick around his chest, memories came back to him of dank dungeons and smelly potions. At first, his brain would not accept it, but with a jolt, Harry realised he was looking at Snape's eyes.

Harry's mouth was hanging open when Draco looked back up at him; with a swift blink, Snape was gone and Malfoy was back, but Harry couldn't deny what he had seen. It had not been a trick of his bound senses, he had seen Severus Snape looking out through Draco's eyes and the implications of that gave Harry back more life than any potion: Draco was a spy. Yet, Draco's brow creased in worry. Harry knew he had to be showing too much, but he couldn't make the sudden resurrection of hope go away. Draco's solution was to grab him by the ears and drag him into a kiss. The touch felt wonderful and for a moment, Harry succumbed to his own needs, but Draco's nails dug painfully into his neck, telling him this was not meant to be comfortable, and with a will he found deep inside, Harry pulled away.

Breathing heavily, more from trying to contain his emotions rather than the shock he was trying to portray, Harry hung from his bonds and, turning his head to one side, stared at the floor. Draco began to laugh, a gesture that made embarrassment rise in Harry, even though he knew its falsehood.

"You'll have to work on that survival instinct," Draco teased, but relented. "I suppose that will do for now."

Fingers took his chin again and Harry resisted as his face was turned back to his master. He fell back on the cottage game, keeping his eyes cast downward and hoping that the swiftness of his breathing would be interpreted as discomfort, not excitement.

"Drink," Draco ordered and then there was glass at his lips.

Harry shivered as the ice entered his veins again and his breathing faltered as the potion swiftly took effect, but this time he was not to be allowed oblivion; Draco held his chin, nails digging in, and compelled, "No, Harry, stay with me, I'm not finished with you yet."

It was an effort to stay awake as the fresh potion urged him to give in to exhaustion, but Harry wanted to hang on to the uplifting closeness to Draco he now allowed himself to feel. He didn't dare look up, he knew his hope would make it back to his face, and so he only felt the heavy gaze that examined him, knowing there was concern there, but that it would not have travelled further than the eyes.

"You having difficulty deciding about me, Harry?" Draco taunted, releasing him to sink back into the shadow of the table. "You have it bad, don't you Harry? I knew I had a hold over you, but I had forgotten how far from the head the heart can be."

Harry remained silent, the centre of attention and kept his feelings well buried.

"What will you give me, Harry?" Draco pressed him, teasing some more, and Harry glanced up, confused by the continued encounter: it would have been safer to end it.

Draco's glance flicked up to where his wrists were attached to the table and swiftly back down to Harry.

"These little ones look up to you; are you going to show them how to behave with your betters?" his lover continued, and began to lean in again.

The gesture was clear: another kiss was being demanded and this time he was not supposed to pull away. Even now he knew there was more to Draco than met the eye, Harry didn't want to display that kind of surrender. Yet there was method to this madness, and so Harry froze where he was, letting his apparent master come to him. Harry shivered as he felt his lover's breath on his lips, conflicted with a sudden urge to close the gap and the animosity he was trying desperately to fake. He was only half relieved when Draco remained at the few millimetres' distance away from him and he couldn't help the look of loss as his lover drew away again.

Draco laughed at him and commented, "Well, well, you can be a good example, Harry. Not perfect, but you're working on the survival instinct, aren't you? I think a little cooperation deserves a reward."

Draco drew his wand, which caused some intakes of breath from the children around them. He then reached up to Harry's hands, took them in one of his own, which started pins and needles in Harry's fingers and then cast the reversal of the sticking spell. Harry let out an almost silent sigh as his shoulders ached with relief when his hands were placed into his lap.

"Now you aren't going to disappoint me and try anything foolish, are you Harry?" Draco questioned.

Harry shook his head. Draco waved his wand once more and Harry felt his tie stiffen around his wrists.

"Good," his lover finished, and then in one move he was on his feet and walking away.

Harry watched Draco's back as he walked away, hiding his joy behind a confusion as to his lover's motives. He was allowing Snape to see through his eyes, he had made him more comfortable, and he was clearly concerned for him, and Harry was more than grateful, but why Draco's anger and conflict over his father had suddenly become betrayal, Harry was not so sure.

"The boy is being foolish releasing Potter like that," Doscara interrupted Harry's thoughts with a snide, whiney tone that was more his own than the bubbly clown-talk.

However, Lucius welcomed his son back to his side, placing another supportive arm around his shoulders.

"Look again, Tarquin," the more experienced Death Eater instructed.

Harry dropped his gaze to his knees when attention once again focused on him; the slave of the sex games had been all defiance and sexual tease, but with the threat of reality, it was not difficult for Harry to change the submissive expression to add evidence of his humiliation. That feeling was all too real: Draco may have drawn his submission out of him in order to release him from the uncomfortable sitting position, but it had still been submission, and Harry could feel the eyes of his fellow pupils on him. He didn't dare look at Jono, from his own memories of the black and white world of an eleven-year-old, he knew the boy would be fuming, but that was the difference between an adult and a child, and Harry could not explain what experience the years in between had given him.

Finally, Harry closed his eyes and let the mists take over.  



	29. Check Mate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco must finally choose which path he wants to tread.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [beren_writes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/beren/pseuds/beren), my excellent beta reader

Sleeping was the only relief that Harry had from the varying discomfort, or pain that Lucius had discovered for him, and unless he was woken by his magic or by Draco, he spent most of his time in oblivion. He drew a little comfort from being near his lover, but the times they spent together were in the glare of every eye in the room, and Draco was necessarily cruel, normally drawing some kind of capitulation from Harry before administering the potion. They played their parts of master and slave convincingly, drawing on much of their private games for the public display. If he had enough energy, Harry showed his resentment of his controller, enough to be obvious, but not enough to draw down punishment on himself or the children.

Jono was the most openly affected by Draco's treatment of Harry. Each time, Harry noted his young friend's fury building, not only with Draco, but with his own capitulation. Harry had no way of explaining the grey world in which they were prisoners, and so he did not try, remaining guilty that he could offer no comfort to the frightened youngsters.

Despite his frustration with Harry, Jono led a group of the juniors in tending him. The few who had given up their robes had become eight or nine, and Harry had more clothing as pillow and blankets as he lay down. He was grateful for their help, it made his world a little more comfortable, even though the coverings could not take the chill out of his bones. However, the time came when Harry had to refuse his friend.

As far as Harry could tell from the number of vials he had been given, it was mid-evening when he woke with the smell of food in his nostrils. His belly rumbled, but lurched at the same time, and he coughed as nausea threatened to make him throw up. It was not however the smell that had woken him, and Harry rolled out of a foetal curl to look up at Jono, who had shaken him on the shoulder. The child was holding a plate of leftover party food, a mixture of crisps, cakes and other normally tempting savouries, but the undulation of the magics in his system meant that Harry found the offer far from tempting.

"No, thank you," he replied quietly, which disappointed Jono and drew a snort from the Death Eater who was handing out the plates to the children.

"You should eat," the boy persisted, his worry showing.

In an attempt to ease his friend's concern, Harry pushed himself into a sitting position. However, the effort showed as he shivered and drew in hasty breaths, waiting for the world to stop going around, and Jono put the food aside in favour of stopping Harry from collapsing back to the floor. Hands on his shoulders made Harry's sensitive skin prickle even more than it already was, and he sucked air through his teeth, but he accepted the support.

"What's the matter?" Jono asked in an urgent whisper.

"Nothing that a little cooperation from outside won't cure," Draco's scathing tones made both him and Jono jump.

The boy turned quickly, his stiff shoulders telling Harry that he was glaring at Draco. Draco ignored the hostility, looking instead at Harry, and his eyes were narrowed a little. Harry could see the concern in his lover, but he hoped no-one else could. Draco stood at Harry's feet and, hands on hips, surveyed him.

"The potion not mixing well with all the food around you, Harry?" he teased, but his eyes blinked to black, so Harry just continued to stare up at him. "What is it, Father?" Draco called over his shoulder. "Black Tom's Binding, Chains of Winter?"

"Well surmised," Lucius called back, his tone saying he was being indulgent with his son. "Chains of Winter."

"Ah," Draco nodded and threw back knowingly, "That would explain the grey around his lips. I'd considered that as a short term measure as well, but I couldn't get my hands on the Snow Lily without drawing too much attention."

Lucius laughed, pride in his sound. However, Draco wasn't finished as he continued the assessment with, "But it isn't pure, is it? Potter would be dead in five doses otherwise."

Draco kicked the sole of Harry's shoe off-handedly, and the answer never came, because Jono had reached the end of his tether.

"Leave him alone!" the boy yelled his fury and flew at Draco.

Caught unawares, Draco grabbed for Jono, turning his attention to the flailing fists. The boy glared up at his adversary and dark eyes looked back down. Harry froze as those black irises disappeared and Jono faltered. The child had seen, and had not understood what he had seen. Draco did not give him a chance to sort out his emotions, he grabbed Jono by the collar and shoved him up against the table. Wand drawn and to the boy's head, Draco used his size to pin the child to the table.

"Well, well, pint-sized rebellion," he condescended, but his tone was anything but light. "But where do I start to quell it? Would you like boils for the rest of your stay with us, or maybe bones that break with the slightest pressure?"

Having a Death Eater's wand at his head again froze Jono to the spot, but his face was a display of his confusion. Draco's answer was to try and terrify the suspicious behaviour away. He dug his wand into Jono's temple, forcing a whine of pain from him and continued, "Should I be more inventive, perhaps? How would you like to maim everyone you touch?"

That scared Jono, Harry saw the fear appear in his young friend's face, and then he recognised Draco taking full advantage of it. Draco smiled and lorded, "So, is that how we control you? You really are too much like Potter for your own good. What shall it be then?"

Draco left the actual choice unsaid, which inspired the terror Harry knew his lover had been looking for. Jono cringed, raising his hands in defence as Draco raised his wand. Harry had no doubt Draco would follow through on his threat in order to protect his cause, but he had seen enough. With every ounce of strength he possessed, Harry pushed himself up onto his knees and reached for the weapon aimed at his young friend's head. His grip was weak as he placed his hands around Draco's, but then he was not intending to try and disarm his lover. His touch was enough to destroy Draco's concentration, and he released Jono's collar. The child remained very still under a flat palm as Draco turned on Harry, and his glare was genuinely angry.

"Leave him, please," Harry begged, letting go and dropping back onto his heels.

He held Draco's stare only long enough to make his plea clear and then he dropped his eyes. This was no mock deference: Harry knew he was risking whatever plan Draco was running by asking him to leave Jono unharmed, but he did not want the boy hurt. When he was grabbed under the chin and slammed against the table in Jono's place, Harry knew he had won, and he looked back up at his master, and he also saw the all too real annoyance in Draco's eyes.

"You will not be warned again, keep your sidekick under control," Draco snarled, and Harry clearly heard the double warning.

With that, Draco let go, and Harry collapsed onto his hands, not sure after the effort he had used that he could even hold the crumpled kneeling position. Yet Jono came to his aid again, steadying him and together they watched Draco stalk away. Harry couldn't make anything out clearly, but by the way he was standing, Doscara looked like he was gloating when Draco walked past his position. That idea was affirmed when the man taunted, "Looks like the hold you have on Potter isn't all one way."

Draco spun on him faster than Harry's lazy vision could track and Doscara was pinned to the wall, wand at his throat before Harry could blink away the mists.

"Don't try to second guess me, Doscara," Draco threatened openly, and then, just as swiftly, he carried on his way.

Draco reached Lucius and there had been no further comment from the other Death Eaters. Lucius was too far away for Harry to judge anything about how he had taken the incident, but since it seemed to be over, Harry let the arctic hold on his body take over again. Jono tried to take the strain, but Harry knew he was swiftly becoming a dead weight, and so he tried to use what strength he had left to support himself as he laid back down. He landed a little heavily on the floor as a result, but his dimming senses did not take much notice. Jono pulled the fallen covers back over him, and Harry looked up at the much subdued child. Forcing a little more from his exhausted system, he caught his friend's hand in his own and made sure the boy's wide eyes were looking at him, before he whispered, "Thank you, but please don't get involved again."

Jono nodded slowly, and with only a hope that his request had been accepted on both levels, Harry succumbed to the potion once more.

* * *

Moving while he was still struggling to wake up was a familiar if disconcerting sensation, but Harry had no will to fight it as someone pulled him to his feet and dragged him forward. He was being hauled along by two of the larger Death Eaters, one under either arm, again, and they gave him no time to work out which way was up as he was quickly pulled to the main doors. Only a brief recognition of white-blond hair on the two figures ahead told him that both Draco and Lucius were there, and then he was, once more, thrown at their feet. Harry landed heavily, but the minor pain in his knees was nothing in comparison to the burning under his skin. That sign of the potion being nearly out of his system was answered in short measure as Draco grabbed Harry by the hair and, leaning him against one leg, tipped his head back and poured a vial down his throat. Harry choked at the rough handling, and leant heavily against the support of his lover's body.

"Last dose," Draco announced, his tone disdainful.

"You have one hour before you begin to see the consequences of ignoring our demands," Lucius threatened, clear impatience in his sound.

Dumbledore, Harry was almost certain it was Dumbledore who spoke next, but his senses drifted into a haze and he could not make out the words. He did not want to pass out, he had just been told it could be his last hour of existence, and he did not want to spend most of it in oblivion, but the fight between runes and potion had taken its toll on Harry's stamina, and he did not have enough energy left to fight the creeping night. His last sensation was of being lifted from his decaying heap on the floor and then darkness descended.

* * *

Harry hunched over his legs, gritting his teeth and glaring out at the world from behind his arms. When he had woken from the potion-induced slumber, he had sat himself up against the table legs, determined not to sleep through what looked like it might be his last minutes on Earth. He had remained in the same position for what seemed like an eternity as the potion had gradually worn off, and now his body felt like needles were poking out through every pore. He was sweating heavily, the ice having long since melted, and his senses were so acute even the quiet, frightened murmurings of the children as some of them tried to sleep were cutting at his hearing. A few candles scattered around the walls were the only light in the early morning, but Harry was glad the light was low, because his retinas were prickling. The Freehand's magic was churning inside him, pushing at his control and demanding to be released, its strength growing with every minute. He knew he wouldn't be able to hold it much longer: his cells were threatening to tear apart as promised and the pain was excruciating.

The beleaguered youth had managed to hold his battle inside, leaving the exhausted youngsters to sleep, but as another surge of power threatened the barriers he was holding in place, Harry could not help himself, he whined his pain. He buried his face into his legs, trying to stifle his sound, but the pique did not dissipate as fast as its predecessors. Harry struggled with the attack, throwing his head back and panting, unable to hide it any longer. The children proved that even those who were sleeping were doing so only lightly as concern slipped through them all in a painful whisper. This was it, the threat made good, and the juniors knew it. All showed their fear, some shifting away. However, Jono, loyal as always, reached out to Harry.

He couldn't help it, as his skin burnt. Harry shied away from his friend, and the boy halted his action. However, someone else took no notice of the need to be left alone: Draco came striding over, his wand offering a piercingly bright light as he cast the lumos spell. Harry was cowering away when his lover pulled down his legs and settled over them as usual, and he barely stifled a cry as the areas of contact erupted with blistering heat. Draco, however, seemed unaffected, and he merely reached for Harry's chin and lifted his face to the light.

Harry had no choice, he closed his eyes and took the examination.

"Pity," came Draco's verdict, matter-of-fact and emotionless, "you would have made an interesting slave, but examples have to be made. And it is time to say goodbye," Harry opened his eyes as the light from the wand dimmed on his closed lids, and a hand stroked his face.

In the dim little world at the apex of the two tables, Draco's face showed his concern and Harry wanted so much to reach out to him and ask for comfort, but the fire in his veins and the danger around them stopped him. He tried not to flinch when Draco reaffirmed hold of his chin, but it hurt and he let out an unsteady breath. His lover leant forward, and Harry braced himself for the pressure of a burning kiss. However, Draco stopped only millimetres from his lips and, in the faintest whisper, told him, "When I get back to my father, start dying loudly."

It was not the closeness Harry wanted, but the information gave him hope: something was afoot and he was to be part of it. He leant heavily against the table legs when Draco drew back, every inch the dying man, and Draco smiled at him. His lover took his hands and raised them up to the lips of the table once more, and using the same magic Lucius had, continued, "We can't risk you trying to be noble and get away from the children."

Harry pulled at the bond as Draco stood and began to walk away; he'd never been a good actor, but he knew all about the panic of a near death experience, and it was not so far away then that he could not bring it forward. His breathing and heartbeat increased as the panic felt almost real, and his magic churned in time with his biological functions. It didn't take Draco long to reach Lucius' position, and then Harry yelled, "Draco, don't do this, please."

His lover spun on his heel and Harry let out some of the pain he had been keeping inside. However, the small release instigated a cascade and Harry screamed for real as the burning swept right through his body. He came down from the pique hanging from his bonds and with children screaming and crying all around him. Death Eaters had moved a little further in, their wands drawn as they stood at the head of the corral, and Harry felt for the trapped, terrified youngsters. Yet, he had been given a task, and now all attention had moved to him, he needed to keep it.

"Let the kids move away," he begged, making sure the desperation was in his voice. "Please, Draco, don't make me hurt them!"

Another wave of pressurised fire sliced through him and Harry cried out again, convulsing with the agony as he clawed onto his magic, keeping it inside.

"No!" Lucius ordered, "keep them there."

Everyone was focused on the disaster about to happen, some through fear and others through morbid fascination. Harry knew he had achieved his aim when only he saw the Aurors appear silently, dressed in black and shimmering out of nothing at various points across the hall behind the enrapt company.

"Damn you, Malfoy!" Harry yelled, showing his anger with the man who had condemned him and covering the last of the arrivals.

Action began suddenly with simultaneous stunners. At least half of the Death Eaters fell at that first move, but not Lucius Malfoy, he had a protector. Harry didn't quite believe what he was seeing when Draco dragged his father sideways out of the path of the stunner meant for him and began to pull him swiftly towards the ante-chamber of the hall as the main doors blew in.

Harry, however, was not given a chance to analyse what was going on, because a third convulsion shook him and this time he clamped his jaw shut, his pain only escaping as hissed whines. He closed his eyes, moving beyond the spectacle Draco had asked him to be, concentrating on keeping down his magic, calling on every ounce of control he had. A few more minutes and it would all be over, he only had to hang on a little longer. The screaming and sounds of fighting dimmed into the distance for Harry, the lancing agony his only concern.

The flames licked at every part of him, it didn't matter where the notae had been placed anymore, and the pressure in his being was beyond even the anarchy that his own emotions could cause in his Freehand magic. He tried to find the still place inside, the eye of the storm from where he could control the power, but this was a dozen cyclones in one, each rune conjuring its own mess. Harry's only option was to clamp down on everything.

There was no peace within, and Harry was to be allowed no peace without either. Draco's urgent cry dragged him from within himself and he heard, "Father, no!"

He opened his eyes as a hand grabbed for him, and Harry barely contained the surge of magic that the shock caused. Lucius, however, was far beyond caring, and Harry saw the madness in his eyes as he was unfixed from the table and hauled to standing. He lost sight of his attacker as Lucius moved behind him and, grabbing him around the neck in a choke-hold aimed a wand at his head. Harry could barely stand, let alone fight, and he could not really reach for the muscle that was half strangling him. He could do nothing more than drag in breath, hold on to his magic and look out at the chaos around him.

All the other Death Eaters were on the ground, or in other surrender positions. The children were being run to the door by various teachers, and the rest of the staff and several dozen Aurors were stood in almost a full circle, as far as Harry could tell, around him and his controller, wands all pointing at them. Dumbledore was stood at the head of the circle, directly in front of captor and hostage. However, if he had been about to say something, it was interrupted by Draco, who pushed through the circle and objected, "Father, no, please, stop this now."

From the way the grip on his windpipe increased, Harry guessed Lucius did not react well to the plea and Draco came to a halt a metre or so away, his face distraught.

"Traitor!" Lucius growled, and Harry knew the pain he saw cross Draco's face as he remembered the exact same accusation from Ron.

"Do as Draco says, Lucius, you are surrounded, you cannot escape," Dumbledore warned.

"I still have your precious Freehand, and I can still destroy this room and most of this school," Lucius threw back.

"A dampening field has been applied to this room, your device and its firestorm will not spread beyond a few feet," the Headmaster returned smoothly. "Surrender now and you will be treated fairly."

The grip that had slackened on his neck a little started to strangle Harry completely at that revelation and Harry dug his fingers into it, trying to catch his breath.

"Don't push me, Dumbledore," Lucius threatened.

"Father," Draco spoke, his voice surprisingly even.

Harry turned his attention to his lover as his captor also did so, shifting them slightly, and Harry was in no doubt he was looking at someone torn between loyalties.

"You no longer have the right to call me that," Lucius snarled and the resultant look of loss in Draco tore Harry's heart to pieces.

The look was gone in a second, however, and, his face composed, Draco repeated, "Father, you cannot win. Please let Harry go and surrender the device."

Lucius laughed, right into Harry's ear, the man's insanity cutting through his head. He did not know how to tell Draco that there was no reasoning with the zealot who had escaped Azkaban, he could only listen as it was made obvious.

"You think I would be foolish enough to carry a power item that could be removed from me when the stakes are so high?" Lucius taunted. "Only death can finish this."

The loss in Draco was back again as the message sank home.

"You are the bomb?" Draco sounded like he didn't want to believe his own assumptions.

Lucius just laughed again, and his son's face hardened.

"The war is over," Draco interrupted the disdain, clipping his words as he did so. "Voldemort is dead and his ideals with him. Your generation lost, Father, now let mine make amends."

"Has this one's rhetoric corrupted you so far?" Lucius sounded disappointed even as he tried to remain amused.

"This isn't anyone's rhetoric, it's the plain truth," the son snapped back, revealing some of his tension; yet he calmed again and continued simply, "We don't want war, we want peace."

Lucius's laugh was even less convincing this time and he growled, "And there was I thinking Potter was lovesick."

Harry found himself the centre of his lover's attention for just a moment, and there was real emotion there, more than lust and games, but it was not for now. Draco's face hardened once more as he focused back on Lucius and Harry lost sight of him as he closed his eyes trying to stifle another attack. He wasn't sure how he reacted to the magic, since the burning blotted out all else, but Lucius was struggling to keep him upright when he came back to earth, hanging from the man's arm. They were both leaning back, Lucius on the tables and Harry on Lucius.

"Potter doesn't have much time left," Lucius gloated, and Harry heard everything he needed to in his enemy's tone: there would be no attempted escape, he was not cover for that, he was merely a toy with which to play games before one final statement in fire.

Harry had enough fire in his veins already and he did not want to die. Words were not going to help, however much Draco clearly wished them to, and so Harry chose action. He was weak, but as a consequence, Lucius was not guarding him well and was not expecting any resistance. Harry knew he would have only one chance, so he drew in all the energy he could and shoved backwards. Lucius was already badly off balance, and Harry slid out of his hold as all his captor's concentration redirected into staying upright. Lucius bellowed his rage, but Harry was out of his hold in a second and with every ounce of willpower he had left, Harry threw himself at Draco. The yell of fury mutated into the deep resonance of an explosion and Harry felt the hot shockwave rush over his back as he fell forward. He landed on Draco, whose only movement had been to reach out in horror to the spectacle behind Harry, and together, the pair fell to the ground, the damped force of the firestorm rushing over them.

The heat of the flames remained far away for a few seconds, but it did not take it long to cut through the clothing on Harry's back, and then he screamed with burning pain inside and out. As the storm died quickly, people closed in on them and Harry was pulled rapidly away from Draco, something heavy being thrown over his back. He cried out as the heavy cover antagonised his scorched skin, but his holder did not relent, pushing him on to the ground and patting him. The pressure of two types of burning was almost too much for Harry's control, and his struggle came out in his cries.

"Hold on, Harry," Remus revealed to Harry's closed senses that it was his friend who held him.

There was no time for gentle as with one set of flames put out, Harry was flipped onto his painful back. He arched away from the pain with a scream, but Remus took hold of Harry's shoulders, pulling him on to his lap and then more shadows fell over Harry's face.

"Alright, My Boy, just a little longer," Professor Dumbledore urged, and Harry opened his eyes to look at the old wizard as he knelt down beside him with more grace than his years would have suggested.

Professor McGonagall took her place beside Dumbledore and then both aimed their wands at Harry. It was not Latin that Harry heard from their mouths, it was a language with far more heavy vowels and consonants, but when the power of it hit his skin, Harry felt it like any other spell. The fire in his body leapt at the charm, objecting to it, building the pressure of his own magic, and Harry writhed under it, but there were more hands now, grabbing him, holding him still as mercilessly as those who had forced him onto the table when the runes had been placed on his body. Yet this time there was one difference, a hand slid into his and Harry gripped the support desperately, looking up into the upside down visage of his part-time uncle.

Unknown Aurors held him, his mentors threw magic at him and Harry concentrated on Remus' stoic face as he struggled to stop his own magic blowing him apart. Slowly, the pressure and the burning began to ease: from his stomach up to his head, Harry felt the notae give way and his fight slipped into exhaustion. As the last searing touch left his forehead and the burning from at least within was gone, Harry's stamina died. Remus squeezed his hand and his upside down smile told Harry he was safe, and so he gave up the fight. Harry closed his eyes and let oblivion take away the rest of his pain.  
  



	30. Facing the Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is scarred by Lucius' plans, but it is Draco who is more damaged, but his scars are not visible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [beren_writes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/beren/pseuds/beren), my excellent beta reader

Harry woke up in a much more comfortable, if somewhat perturbing, world. He blinked a couple of times before realising that he was looking down at a crisp, white bed sheet an inch or so from his face, and his brain then tried to work out how the sheet was defying gravity. Slowly, however, his other senses began to work and he realised that it was he who was defying gravity and that he was lying on his front on a soft cushion of air. His arms were lying either side of his head, like he was burying his face in a pillow that wasn't there, and his shoulders were stiff, so, naturally, Harry tried to move them. Up until that point there had been no pain, but as he tried to wriggle a little, Harry discovered that the skin on his back didn't like that. He drew in some hasty gulps of air as a tight prickling ran from one shoulder blade to the next.

"Harry, Mate, are you awake?" Ron made himself known, and there was the rustling of paper before a shadow fell across the white sheet.

"Yes," Harry replied, trying his best to slow the rapid breaths which were also making the back of his torso complain.

"Don't try to move, Mate," Ron advised far too late, "your back was burnt and Madame Pomfrey's treating it, but she said it'll be a while before it's fixed."

"I can feel that," Harry returned, the pain making him grumpy and then a little vulnerability made it into his dozy brain as he realised he couldn't feel a sheet above him and he was naked.

Despite the warning from Ron and the evidence of his own discomfort, Harry's instinct was to check over his shoulder at the world and the lack of blanket. He made it to lifting up his chin and then the pain hit him again. Gasping, Harry sagged and Ron suddenly appeared in his field of view, kneeling at the right side of the head of the bed.

"What do you want, Mate?" his friend asked anxiously, and reaching behind him offered, "You sound croaky, want a drink?"

A beaker and straw were slid under his mouth and Harry took a long draw from its contents; the cool water slid down his dry throat and Harry calmed. When Ron tugged at something just out of Harry's vision, his sense of exposure also lessened as he realised he was covered, but in the same way as he was floating above the bed, so too was the sheet floating above his sore back.

"How long have I been out?" Harry asked.

"'Bout an hour," Ron replied, smiling as he remained in the awkward position that meant Harry could see him. "Hermione's sorry she isn't here, but she's doing the Head Girl bit. There's an infirmary full of kids in shock out there and she's helping get them into beds for the rest of the night."

"Is it all over?" Harry had to check.

Ron nodded firmly, frowning as he answered, "Yes, all the Death Eaters were rounded up, except the one the kids told us you put in the wall, and Malfoy of course, he's just a pile of ash."

"How's Draco?" the question came instantly and urgently to mind with the mention of Lucius' fate.

Ron didn't answer immediately, his face showing he was trying to find the right words. In the end he was just direct as he replied, "He burnt his arm when his Dad exploded, but he didn't seem to notice. He was very quiet when I saw him being put in the room next door to this one. Dumbledore called his Mum, and I think she arrived a while ago. Sorry, I don't know any more."

Harry fell into a worried silence as he thought about the aghast look he had last seen on his lover's face and Ron clearly did not know how to carry on. It took his friend a few thoughts, but then Ron pushed forward with, "It was really brave what Draco did. I'd never have thought in a million years he'd do something like that."

"I didn't believe it myself until I saw his eyes change," Harry decided talking was better than brooding.

"Sensus Bisulcus," Ron looked like he was trying very hard to get the pronunciation right, but then he grinned and told Harry proudly, "Hermione's idea. It was she and Draco that came up with it all," Ron looked slightly perturbed at that idea, but he carried on, "Snape refused at first, it can be dodgy, can leave the carrier blind if it goes wrong, but Draco insisted, so Dumbledore performed the spell, and it meant that Snape could see and hear everything Draco did when he activated it. We knew where everyone was in the hall and all the spells that had been used on you. Draco even put down transport points so the Aurors could sneak in without having to break the apparate barrier on the school." Ron was on a roll, clearly getting some guilt off his chest with the glowing report, and Harry let him run, since the news of Draco's heroism made him feel better as long as he didn't think of the consequences. "The Killing Curse as well, it was a really risky angle to make it look like he hit Auror Anquir, and Anquir took some convincing, but Hermione and Draco managed it between them. The whole thing took so much guts: he deserves a medal."

"I'm sure the Ministry will give him one," Harry returned, rather sourly as he remembered how pointless he had found his own Order of Merlin when faced with the trauma he had suffered to get it.

"You're not jealous that you didn't get to play the hero this time, are you?" a voice teased behind him and told Harry that Hermione had come into the room.

Harry snorted at that and quipped, "No, it was so much fun being the damsel in distress instead."

Ron sniggered and Hermione was smiling when she knelt down next to her boyfriend and Harry grinned at the both of them, focusing on the better side of things: he was alive and everyone was safe, the harsher consequences of Lucius' folly could be dealt with in time. However, Hermione's expression straightened and she asked, "How are you feeling, Harry?"

"Uncomfortable, but I'll survive," he returned honestly, just about remembering not to shrug. "How are the kids?"

"Over excited and not wanting to sleep," Hermione replied, rolling her eyes, "but Jonathan is turning out to be quite the leader and they're all at least in bed thanks to him."

Harry smiled at that, proud of his young friend.

"I think he's trying to emulate someone we know," Hermione continued, and without the danger the association had posed to his protégé during the hostage situation, Harry allowed himself an even bigger smile.

* * *

Hermione had to leave again once she had said a quick hello and assured herself that Harry was in good spirits. It was in fact about 5am, and Hermione had made sure to tell Harry to go back to sleep before she left, but he had spent the majority of the last fourteen hours sleeping, and despite a weariness in his bones, he didn't want to let himself drift off again. Ron obliged by making himself comfortable down on the floor next to the bed where Harry could see him and chatting away like it was mid-afternoon in the quad. Harry dug for a bit more information about why he and the children had been taken hostage in the first place, and discovered that there had been a long list of demands, the top one being the release of all accused Death Eaters from Azkaban, but after his curiosity had been satisfied, he chose subjects that distracted him from the horrors instigated by Tarquin Doscara.

Harry was holding a slow, sleepy conversation about Ginny's plans for the Quidditch team when he had another visitor. He heard the door click open this time, but resisted the natural urge to turn his head.

"Good Morning, Harry," Madame Pomfrey greeted brightly.

"Morning," he replied, yawning widely despite his want to stay awake.

"How are you feeling?" the Healer asked walking round to the opposite side of the bed to Ron and taking Harry's wrist, checking his pulse.

"How long do I have to stay like this?" Harry chose to reply with his own question.

"I will take that impatience as a positive sign," the woman chided lightly, releasing his wrist, and then she informed him, "A few more hours at least, I am afraid. Despite the swift actions of Professor Lupin, you had full thickness burns down the left side of your back and hip, and some to the right: the burns embrocation will need another few hours to mend the skin and you may need a second application."

Harry groaned: his shoulders were really beginning to ache from being in the same position for so long and it was very difficult to resist the urge to move.

"I suggest you try to sleep it out, Harry," Madame Pomfrey advised kindly. "The magical trauma to your system alone requires plenty of rest. And you, Ron Weasley, should also go to find your bed, I have no doubt you have been up all night."

Ron shrugged at Harry and smiled.

"Do you mind, Mate?" he asked, barely stifling his own yawn.

"Thanks for staying," Harry dismissed with a very slight shake of his head, which he instantly regretted.

Ron stood up and disappeared from view as he finished, "Sleep well, Harry."

Harry was already drifting off as the door closed behind his friend and he lost track of Madame Pomfrey, who was adjusting sheets and checking the air cushions around him.

* * *

A gentle hand on his woke Harry from his slumber and Madame Pomfrey was in much the same position as she had been when he had fallen asleep.

"Harry," she called softly.

"Mm," he mumbled back, shifting a little before he remembered where he was, and then he instantly flopped back into position.

"I'm sorry to wake you, Harry," Madame Pomfrey began, "but I have to check your burns now. I will be as gentle and quick as possible, but it will hurt."

"Alright," Harry acknowledged and steeled himself for the examination.

The air over his back shifted and Harry's skin prickled as the sheet was drawn back off his body. A feeling of complete vulnerability struck him first: he was naked and helpless in the presence of another. Yet, he knew his healer well and the emotion was soon outstripped when a lukewarm cloth touched his shoulder and Harry felt the pain of the burns afresh. The gentle stroke washed away the layer of balm that had been protecting the burns from the air and it was like razorblades being scraped across his tight, semi-healed skin. Harry whined and dug his nails into his palms in search of a better type of pain. Madame Pomfrey withdrew the touch, and she was leaning over him for a moment as she examined what she had revealed.

"I'm sorry, Harry, you are going to need another application of the embrocation, this one had run out of magic. It means I'm going to have to clear this layer off completely and apply a new one."

Harry groaned, but did not make further comment. He dug his nails further into his palm as the wiping began again, but the distraction did not work, so Harry chose to swear instead.

"Bloody mad people," he snarled, "at least when," he drew in a sharp breath as the cloth touched his shoulder blade, "Voldemort was alive this kind of thing only happened once a year or so. Now they're coming out of the woodwork once a term."

Madame Pomfrey did not reply, but the unfairness of it all was now building in Harry and, underlined by the pain he was now suffering, he let out his bad temper some more with, "I'm leaving, I'm going to lock myself in my cottage and put up a dampening field where no wands are allowed."

"Really?" his healer prompted lightly.

"Yes," Harry snarled, and then had to pause as a lance of pain ran from his shoulders to his tailbone and his teeth gritted without his consent. "Yes," he repeated, "No wands, no magic, nothing but Muggle things."

"Doesn't that rather exclude yourself?" came the logical counter, although Madame Pomfrey didn't sound at all concerned about his threat to run away.

"Freehand magic only," he decided petulantly; "it's different, so I'll be able to tell."

Harry groaned as the cleaning continued and the hurt became too much for the snit. He shuddered, unable to control his reactions.

"Tell me some more about this magic-free house of yours," his healer cut through his isolated world of agony.

Harry knew that the woman was trying to distract him, and he did not need telling twice. He growled, letting a little more anger out into the room and it helped dim the pain. He let his imagination go and began rather loudly, "I'll only let in people I want to be there."

"Who will be allowed?"

"Ron, Hermione," Harry began and then remembered present company with, "You, if you'd like, Madame Pomfrey."

"Thank you," his healer replied, and without seeing her face, Harry thought she was sincere.

"All the teachers, except S-Professor Snape," Harry chose, and then let out a long, rumbling breath as the burning beat out his concentration. "Neville," he continued, almost shouting as he forced back the pain with his list. "Dobby."

"Wouldn't he be excluded on account of his being a magical creature?" Madame Pomfrey was proving to be quite the Devil's Advocate, but she made Harry think, which was better than concentrating on the task at hand.

Harry was given a short respite as his healer finished clearing the old lotion from his hip and buttocks and he relaxed for a moment, not thinking or feeling too much. However, as a cool touch began to spread its contents over the same sore areas of his body, Harry forced his mind into gear again.

"I can make exceptions, like me, his magic is different from humans."

"Then you'll allow all house elves?"

"Have to," Harry grumped and then pressed on with his list. However, his brain and pretend list came to a grinding halt as his mind arrived at a more serious thought, and he mumbled, "Draco."

"Draco is next door," Madame Pomfrey told him.

"I know, Ron told me," Harry returned and asked immediately, "How is he?"

"In shock," the healer returned honestly. "His mother is with him."

"Don't know how I'd feel if I'd just seen my Dad blow himself up," Harry mused morbidly.

He was chided with, "Harry!"

Harry knew his healer would never have hurt him deliberately, but her reproach coincided with the application of the ointment onto a particularly sensitive area of his left lower torso and the gloomy thoughts disappeared into another helpless shudder.

"Nearly finished, Harry," Madame Pomfrey assured him, and thankfully, in a few more strokes, the trial was indeed over.

Harry sighed and relaxed as his healer pulled the sheet back up to float over him and he was told, "Sleep again, now Harry, and when you wake up this should all be healed."

Harry didn't need telling twice: he didn't want to think or feel too much, and his healing body certainly wanted him to sleep if the heaviness in his limbs was anything to go by. He was once more asleep before he had been left alone.

* * *

The room didn't have any windows (it was the same one into which he had been locked after the fight, Harry thought, but he couldn't see much of it anyway so he wasn't sure), so when he did wake up from the deep oblivion of healing sleep, it was into a half world where his dreams continued as he dozed. However, he was awake enough that when the door opened, he heard it and lifted his head before he remembered, and there was surprisingly no pain. The tightness in the skin on his back remained, but no longer felt like hundreds of needles digging at his nerves, so he risked pushing himself up further and looked over his shoulder.

"Please remain lying down, Harry, I would like to check the burns before you risk damaging the healing," Madame Pomfrey warned and Harry obediently relaxed back into position.

However, the absence of pain had instantly lifted his spirits and he greeted, "Hello, Madame Pomfrey. What time is it, please?"

"About ten thirty in the morning," the woman replied and observed with a laugh in her voice, "Feeling livelier are we?"

"Much," Harry agreed.

"I am glad, Harry, but I would advise you to take things slowly, your energy may not last if you try to do too much," his healer didn't sound too serious, but Harry knew her advice in these matters was that of a sage, so he nodded. "Alright, now I'm going to remove the embrocation again, please tell me if you feel any pain at all."

Harry took heed, bracing himself just in case the lotion was masking anything, but as Madame Pomfrey applied the same gentle movements as before, washing away the protection, he was pleasantly surprised. He let out a long sigh and relaxed as the magical skin of lotion was removed and there was no pain. His skin prickled a little, sore in places like he had been rubbing it too much, but it was a minor discomfort which the relief of a painless world dwarfed completely.

Harry actually enjoyed the washing as it removed some of the tight feeling of his skin and he dozed again for a few moments. However, once she had finished clearing the embrocation, Madame Pomfrey paused over him and the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stood up at her silence.

"What is it?" he asked anxiously.

"I'm sorry, Harry, the burns were deep, and you have some scarring here," she touched his left shoulder, "and here," fingers brushed the very top of his left buttock.

Harry glanced over his shoulder and down his torso, not sure how he felt and just caught sight of a familiar silvery-white patch of skin which followed the curve of his body. He then looked down at his right hand and the many scars there and a strange resignation flowed through him.

"They'll go with the rest," he shrugged and chose to move swiftly on with, "Can I get up now?"

He looked up at his healer, and her face showed she was concerned by his reaction, but the frown was gone in a second and then she reached for a pile of clothes Harry had not seen her leave on the chair beside his bed. Madame Pomfrey held out the offering and told him, "Slowly now, but yes, you may get up to put these on (I had Ron fetch them for me). I will give you a few minutes and then I'll bring you some breakfast and we shall rearrange your bed to make you more comfortable."

Harry didn't feel much like staying in bed, he was too glad to be pain free and alert again, but he did not object. He turned over and sat up, pulling the sheet around him and took his pyjamas with a thank you. However, it wasn't until his healer had gone that his bashful side allowed him to slip out from under the sheet and pull the clothing on. The room was warm, artificially held at some chosen temperature, but it wasn't warmth for which Harry was searching as he rapidly pulled on his clothes, it was some dignity. Lucius had taken away his self-respect with potions and runes and his injuries had held it back for still longer, but now he was free and well, and as he pulled his t-shirt over his head and then slipped his glasses back on his nose, Harry smiled to himself.

The bed was still a mess of air and floating sheets, so Harry sat himself down in the chair and twiddled his thumbs. However, his healer's warning proved correct, and even idling his time in the chair took its toll on Harry's energy levels. No food and a night of drugged oblivion meant that Harry's reserves were low, and the deceptive high began to slip away as the novelty of moving wore off. He was considering climbing back into bed, Harry-shaped air cushion in his way or not, when the door opened again.

Politeness told Harry to stand up, but weariness had other ideas, so he remained seated. However, the door may have opened a little way, but no-one came in immediately. The reason drifted in to Harry.

"Narcissa, what is it?" Madame Pomfrey asked in no more than a whisper.

"May I speak with you, Poppy? I don't know how to get him to talk to me, he's just coldly polite," Mrs Malfoy replied, her tone guilty and worried, and then Harry heard her burst into quiet tears.

His healer put her head round the door and told him, "I'll be back as soon as I can, Harry."

He nodded his understanding and the door closed once more.

Harry settled back into his chair and concern woke him a little. It was clear Narcissa Malfoy was referring to Draco, and shock or not, coldly polite was not a good reaction. Harry would have begun to brood on that thought, but there was a knock on wood which distracted him. It did not sound much like the door, it was a much higher-pitched sound, but Harry called automatically, "Come in."

He was more than surprised when the door to his bedside cupboard opened and Salazar jumped down. Harry stood up in surprise and then immediately sat down again as the fast movement put too much stress on his sleepy attention.

"Harry, I need to speak to you," the founder began, his tone revealing anxiety.

"Draco," Harry guessed, and was given a nod, so he explained, "I heard Mrs Malfoy talking to Madame Pomfrey."

"I have been trying to talk with him between his mother's visits," Salazar informed him, "but he has shut us all out. He neither sleeps nor speaks except when asked a direct question, and then he is brief in the extreme."

"What can I do?" Harry asked, his heart going out to the trauma in his lover.

Salazar looked slightly relieved at the offer and returned, "I believe you may succeed where we have failed."

Harry doubted that his lustful connection with Draco would be more use than that between a mother and a son, and it must have shown in his face, because Salazar argued, "Draco connects his mother and his father, and I believe he is finding it difficult to reconcile that connection. I am merely a piece of wood and he is ignoring me. You are the catalyst that saw him turn his back on his father's ideals."

That responsibility settled firmly on Harry's shoulders and his spirits sunk with the guilt of Draco's grief.

"Maybe I'm not the best person to talk to him then," Harry's confidence was non-existent. "What if he blames me, I could make it worse."

"At the moment, any emotion is better than the way he's bottling it up," Salazar returned bluntly, offering facts but not any reassurance.

"You want me to go now?" Harry checked, very unsure of himself.

"His mother and your healer are distracted, we may not get another chance," the founder urged, pointing at the door.

Harry wasn't a coward, but where Draco was concerned, he was frequently confused. He had seen the real feelings in Draco when Lucius had accused him of being lovesick, but in the chill of hindsight, Harry did not know how to interpret what he had seen. He didn't want to be yelled at, or disparaged, his own ego was too fragile after the battering Lucius had given him, but there was want and then there was necessity. Harry was no stranger to his own emotions taking a back seat to necessity, he had faced it all his life and now there was his own concern for Draco backing up the role Salazar was asking him to play.

Slowly, gathering his energy and his courage, Harry stood up.

"Thank you," Salazar surprised Harry with his sincerity; Harry nodded to him and was told, "I will observe, but I will not reveal myself."

* * *

Harry tentatively opened the door and peered out into the corridor. There was some noise from the main infirmary, children's voices, low and excited if a little sleepy, but the immediate area was clear. His heart in his throat, Harry stepped out into the corridor, the chill of the stone on his bare feet waking him still more, and then he came to a halt in front of Draco's door. He was feeling dizzy, which was silly, and Harry tried to give himself a mental kick, but missed, so there was nothing for it, but to knock and wait.

There was no reply, so, taking a deep breath, Harry steadied himself and opened the door anyway. Inside, the room was very still. It was lighter than Harry's due to a window, or at least the semblance of a window, and Draco was stood at it, looking out. He turned at Harry's arrival and for a moment a flash of surprise coloured an otherwise bland expression.

"May I come in?" Harry asked as evenly as possibly.

Again, only for a second, Harry thought he saw more emotion appear under the smooth surface of Draco's features, but it wasn't there long enough for him to interpret. However, Draco then nodded and turned back to the window. Feeling like an interloper, Harry left the door ajar, but stepped into the room properly. He hovered near the end of the bed, uncertain of what to say or do with the statuesque figure who might have been ignoring him.

It was clear that Draco was not about to start the conversation, and Harry paused a few moments, trying to find something to say. In the end, he let his heart rule his head: he did not have fancy words and persuasion at his fingertips, so he reached out to the hidden emotion which he had seen for the briefest of moments.

"You're allowed to miss him," Harry spoke honestly, and when Draco turned to him this time, the shock did not disappear off his features. "He was your dad. I hardly remember mine and I still miss him sometimes."

Draco's glare was almost accusatory, and Harry had to resist the urge to back down. He could see the cracks appearing in his lover's silent armour and he knew it had to shatter. He let Draco hate him in that moment, taking the blame for making him feel what he was clearly trying very hard to block, and he took it silently, not sure what to say next. The squeak of the door made them both jump and Draco's eyes flicked to the new entrant and Harry turned to look between the two people. It was Narcissa, standing stock still, holding the handle like it was about to fall off the door. Her face was white and she seemed shocked by Harry's presence, but there was also hope in her eyes as she looked to her son. Draco could not hide his emotions now that Harry had chipped his defences and Harry chose another simple push as he told him, "And you still have your mum."

The cracks cascaded over Draco's surface: his body sagged and his face screwed up with grief. He was clearly struggling to hold his emotions back still, but a mew made it to his lips. Narcissa responded instantly, sweeping across the room and wrapping her son in her arms. His task accomplished, Harry's sense of being the intruder strengthened and so, silently, he backed towards the door, watching guiltily as son and mother let the tears flow. Finally, he turned and stepped through the jar of the door.

Madame Pomfrey was stood there and her expression was so mixed, it was unreadable.

"Well done," she told Harry, patting him on the shoulder.

Harry nodded to accept the praise, slightly confused by it as his own emotions suggested he didn't deserve it, and then he yawned.

"Back to bed with you," his healer decided immediately, taking the arm she had patted and gently guiding him back to his room.

Harry didn't argue, he had expended all his energies in his emotions and so with a couple of waves of Madame Pomfrey's wand and a minute or so, he was back in bed with pillows and blankets and a hot water bottle for good measure.

"Do you feel up to eating something?" his healer checked as she adjusted his covers.

"I'd rather sleep," Harry replied with another yawn.

"Alright then," the woman finished and Harry relaxed into comfortable slumber.  



	31. Moving Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry finds himself in the role a healer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [beren_writes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/beren/pseuds/beren), my excellent beta reader

Having not eaten for far too long, as far as his stomach was concerned, Harry was famished when he woke up. It was mid afternoon, but Madame Pomfrey gladly provided him with a spread that would have fed half a dozen. He had dived in with enthusiasm, but a large helping of shepherd's pie, a bowl of ice-cream and a few bites of an apple later, Harry was struggling with the apple. He had put the tray on the beside table when he had picked up the apple and had brought his knees up a little, on which he was resting his herbology text book.

Thanks to the chaos the previous week, Harry was way behind on his homework, and since Hermione had dropped off his books sometime that morning, Harry had decided to bite the bullet that was better than lying around wondering how Draco was. Once he had been awake enough to consider things properly, the memory of his lover falling apart had raised every protective instinct Harry had. He had wanted to go charging back into Draco's room and tell him that everything was going to be alright, but reality said otherwise, and Harry had hung back because of that. He had set things in motion and the logical side of him said it was better to wait for Draco to make the next move. His emotional side, however, made sure Draco was a fairly constant point in his mind, whether at the back or the front, and Harry was having as much difficulty concentrating on his work as he was finishing his food.

Harry had begun to read the first paragraph of a chapter on the properties of magical fungi for the umpteenth time when a knock on the door saved him from failing again.

"Come in," he called, closing the book and dumping the apple back onto the tray.

The door opened and Harry found he had anticipated his visitors at the wrong height, and he had to drop his gaze a foot or so as Jono and a trail of six other juniors came in. The faces reminded Harry suddenly of the dark hours he had spent under Lucius' control, and he sat back into his pillows, trying to make the nasty taste in his mouth go away. Jono stopped at the end of the bed, uncertainty in his eyes and Harry knew he had to be frowning.

"Do you want us to leave?" the boy checked anxiously.

"No!" Harry returned, forcing a smile through his frown, "Come in, sit down, you're all welcome."

Harry drew his legs up under him and patted the bed. As small bodies filled the end of his bed, he was sent on a trip down memory lane when he, Ron and Hermione had gathered like this after their adventures. Yet, as worried, slightly haunted gazes looked his way, Harry knew he was not one of these children anymore, but, as Dumbledore had said, a leader, to whom they looked for support and guidance. In that light, he decided to start things rolling and he knew each of these faces from the group who had stayed close to him throughout their ordeal, so he began, "Thank you all for looking after me."

"Wasn't much," Jono shrugged modestly, but he and his friends were smiling as they accepted the gratitude.

"It was very brave," Harry replied earnestly.

"How are you feeling?" one of the girls piped up, and without her large name badge, Harry was sorry to realise he could only identify her as a Ravenclaw from the house badge she was wearing. "Madame Pomfrey said you were burned."

Young eyes were obviously looking for evidence of that, and so Harry replied, "All down my back, but it's healed now."

Harry chose not the mention the scarring, thinking his young friends wanted comfort not consequences.

"Bet it hurt," one of the boys surprised him with his morbid curiosity.

Harry just made a face as the child was elbowed in the ribs by the Ravenclaw girl next to him and then he decided to divert and ask, "How are you lot getting on?"

"Madame Pomfrey's letting us go," Jono replied blandly.

"That's not what I asked," Harry chose to be direct: if he was going to be some kind of role model to these children, he had only to think of Draco to know that hiding things behind brave shields did not help.

The juniors all looked round at each other, clearly nervous again, and reticent about sharing the emotions that were behind their eyes.

"Well, I don't know about you," Harry pressed on honestly, "but I was scared out of my wits most of the time."

"You were?" a Hufflepuff spoke for the whole group, his eyes round and shocked.

"They were threatening our lives, anyone who wasn't frightened should have their heads examined," he shrugged and the relief in all the gazes in front of him was palpable. "Being scared isn't something to be ashamed of, it's part of being human, it's what you do in the face of fear that says who you are."

"I just wanted to be at home with my Mummy and Daddy," a Gryffindor girl, whom Harry just about remembered was called Florence, admitted first, her eyes damp at the recollection.

"And who did you get to see this morning?" Jono leant over to her and patted her leg, drawing a smile from her.

The gentle manipulation of the girl's feelings impressed Harry and he wondered if Jonathan had nearly been sorted into Slytherin as well, but he bit his tongue when the question came to mind.

"Malfoy's Mum's here as well, isn't she?" the Ravenclaw, whom Harry finally connected with the questions of the Monday afternoon and recalled her name, asked.

"Yes, Daisy," he replied, the small victory of recalling a name dwarfed by the serious enquiry.

"We haven't seen him, how is he?" Jono asked the pertinent question that clearly had the whole group's interest.

The fact the Draco's status had changed in the eyes of the children did not surprise Harry, and if the cost had not been so high he would have been pleased.

"Upset," Harry replied honestly, "his Dad's just died."

"But he was working against him," came explosively from a small girl on the end of the bed, and her face said she was equating her own hatred of their captors to Draco.

"It's more complicated than that," the adult explained to the child. "Draco disagreed with what his Dad was doing, but only he knows how he felt about his Dad."

A short silence fell as that subtlety sank in, but there were more questions waiting and, as usual, Jono strode into the pause for them all with a hopeful, "You knew that Draco was on our side all the time, didn't you?"

"Most of the time," Harry agreed, wondering where the enquiry was going.

"And everything he did to you, all that talk about binding and things, you were both just pretending?" Florence continued, and blushed awkwardly when the group glared at her.

Harry, however, understood where the question had come from, and he knew how objectionable Draco's behaviour had to have looked. He was not going to go into the greys of his reactions to Draco's demands, not trusting that the children would understand, so he just nodded.

"Did you know the plan all along?" Daisy was again digging for details.

Harry shook his head and replied, "I only knew that Draco was letting Professor Snape see through his eyes. I didn't know anything was going to happen until he asked me to distract everybody at the last minute."

"So you were just pretending then as well?" Daisy sounded hopeful, but not confident.

This time Harry was not going to gloss over what had happened and he shook his head, which made all seven faces fall.

"Why did they hurt you like that?!" the girl at the end of the bed was losing her temper again.

Harry's heart went out to the youngsters who were losing their innocence to the horror that was Death Eater method. They had witnessed the worst sentiments that man against man could produce and there was no hiding from it.

"They needed me to break the apparate barrier round Hogwarts," Harry decided to be practical, "but then I was too dangerous to leave unbound."

"But they didn't have to do it like that," Jono objected, his face creasing with anger. "They tortured you."

The conversation had suddenly leapt from comfort to one of difficult words and Harry felt a lump in his throat as he tried to find an explanation for the madness of Lucius Malfoy.

"I killed their leader," in the end he had to be blunt.

"So it was revenge?" Daisy sounded like she wanted a 'no' in response, but Harry couldn't give it: he nodded.

Silence again cut the room, and even Jono was not going to break it this time, so Harry took the lead and offered, "When people are angry they do horrible things."

"But that wasn't just anger," Jono glowered still.

"We stand for everything they believe is wrong with the wizarding world," Harry deliberately pushed the plural back into what he was saying. "Hogwarts is a place for everyone with magic, not somewhere for an elite chosen by themselves and they don't like that. Voldemort was evil, he wanted to run the wizarding world like a dictatorship and those who followed him think the same way. They hate everything that doesn't conform to their way of thinking. What they did to all of us was horrible."

"But it's over now, they lost," Florence announced resolutely.

Harry didn't want to undermine the girl, but he knew it was far from over. He chose his words carefully as he replied, "Yes, they lost and Professor Dumbledore will make sure it can never happen again, but we're all going to be thinking about it for a long time."

That drew a few more long faces and the trepidation was obvious.

"I want you to know," Harry met the children's worry head on and it began a warm place in his heart for those who had shared his trials as he offered, "you can come and talk to me about this whenever you want, any of you. We were in this together, and we can deal with it together."

That put a brighter spark in some eyes, although the concern at Harry's warning was still there.

"Were you really scared all the time?" the Hufflepuff boy pressed quietly, the need to go over this ground again obvious in his eyes.

With a sad smile, born of his respect for the children's bravery and his sense of responsibility for them, Harry nodded afresh and prepared to deal with things in more depth.

* * *

Homework went undone as Harry spent another hour talking to his young visitors. He had learnt all of their names by the time they stood up to go and he was getting to know their personalities. He had not mixed that much with the younger years, not even his own house mates and it was a new experience to be a mentor, one in which he found solace over his own tribulations. The juniors did not leave exactly happy, but, he hoped they went with a confidence that they had been lacking when they entered, and that they would carry to the others.

Having exhausted the energies that the meal had given him back, Harry then had dozed for a while, and finally he had spent the evening in the company of Hermione and Ron, who provided gossip and The Prophet, whose whole issue that day was about the siege at Hogwarts. None of the pupils involved in the siege had spoken to the paper, but there had clearly been enough sources to give fairly accurate reports on what had happened to the hostages and especially Draco's role in the proceedings, which had taken up inches of room in numerous editorials. Harry had read the sections about Draco avidly with the indulgence of his friends, skipping over news of himself; even Ron seemed happy to let him scour the paper and in some cases was right there beside him, pointing things out.

Madame Pomfrey had insisted on an early night, and her patient, had not argued. However, having slept most of the morning and some of the afternoon, Harry's slumber was not deep, and was full of dark images from the torturous siege. He tossed and turned, drifting between dreams and dozing, always keeping reality just behind a thin veil of sleep. However, it was during a calmer doze that Harry's senses began to itch. It was nothing definite, no detection of movement or much sound, but the hair on Harry's neck and arms was standing on end, and a vaguely horny feeling brought him slowly back to wakefulness.

Harry rolled onto his side and opened his eyes, and part of his brain was not surprised when, by the light of a low lamp, he found himself looking at Draco. His lover was wrapped in a dressing gown and was sitting in the chair close by the bed. For a moment, he looked like he had been caught out and might bolt, but as Harry continued to level an easy stare at him, he calmed.

"Couldn't sleep?" Harry finally asked when he thought the panic had gone from Draco's face.

Draco nodded, and so Harry sat up, slid his glasses on his nose and wrapped his arms round his blanket-covered knees. What his instinct was telling him to do was wrap his arms around his lover, but self-confidence was lacking in both young men and so Harry just hugged his knees and asked, "How are you feeling?"

"Not sure," Draco replied, his voice thin and sore.

It was difficult to see clearly by the light of the single lamp, but Harry made out what he thought was a redness to Draco's eyes, and it was clear it had not been an easy day.

"Where's your Mum?" Harry ploughed on.

"She had to go," Draco was having difficulty looking Harry in the eyes, and his gaze danced over the floor as he continued with a crack in his already dry tone, "She has to prepare for the funeral."

Harry wasn't sure if Draco was going to crack up then; his companion's expression held some of the catatonic composure of the day before, but Draco's eyes were wild with emotion, and Harry did not know how to respond to the pain he saw there. However, he was saved the dilemma when Draco rushed breathily into, "Will you come with me?"

Harry felt his jaw go slack: he knew very well to what Draco was referring, he was asking him to go to Lucius Malfoy's funeral and the juxtaposition of his hatred for the father and his love for the son sent waves of hot and cold running through his body. He had not even thought about practical things like interring the dead, but even in his wildest imaginings, he had never considered standing over the grave of one of his worst enemies, and doing so by Draco's side was a little more than his mind could comprehend all at once.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked," Draco stood rapidly, sounding embarrassed and hurting.

Harry's heart entered his throat as he saw his lover and the relationship he wanted with him leaving for good, and he almost threw himself out of bed.

"Don't go," Harry begged, doing what he had been wanting to do since waking, wrapping Draco in his embrace. "Of course I'll come with you."

Harry had grabbed Draco from behind, and in a heartbeat, stiff surprise became sagging relief that leant into him heavily. He pulled his lover back towards the bed and they sat down. Harry kept an arm round Draco's shoulders, but he relaxed his hold when he had him next to him on the bed. He looked across at the gaze that still preferred the floor to admitting all of its vulnerability to him and his own needs took a back seat. This was not about passion or lust for Harry anymore, his emotions had run far deeper before term had started and for the first time he felt free to express those feelings. He cared for Draco more than he had ever felt possible before, and he wanted to take his pain away.

Life was not so simple as to provide a simple fix for the difficult grief that was keeping Draco silent, and words were not Harry's forte, so he offered comfort in the only way he knew: he just sat close to his loved-one and waited.

* * *

Harry wasn't sure how long Draco stayed after he had agreed to the request, but he didn't think it was a large amount of time. They hadn't spoken at all: Harry had just left his loved-one to his own mind. At least, however, when he did get up to return to his own room, Draco had looked Harry in the face and finished their meeting with two small words, "Thank you."

Harry knew there was a long way to go before the pain in Draco was even dented, but he went back to sleep with the hope that whatever was to come, he would be there to offer his support.

* * *

Wednesday dawned as a day of mundane uncertainty for Harry: he thought he was fit enough to be released from the infirmary, however, despite positive mumblings from Madame Pomfrey when she brought his breakfast, there had been no signs of his marching orders by midmorning. Harry was lying the wrong way up his bed, trying to finish the Herbology homework he had left undone the previous day, when he received his answer.

A knock on the door made him look up and call for entry, but expecting Ron or Hermione, he didn't move until his headmaster appeared in the doorway. Rapidly, he shifted to stand up, but was told, "Do not trouble yourself, Harry."

The youth did continue into at least a sitting position and, indicating to the chair, offered, "Come in, Sir."

Harry just watched as Dumbledore closed the door, glided over to the chair and sat down, and then he was addressed with, "Now, My Boy, how are you?"

Harry was well aware the question was not directed at his physical well-being, which was obvious, so he replied, "I've been better. About the same as last term."

"Yes, I am sorry that we have not done a better job of protecting you, Harry," the old man sounded genuinely remorseful. "You have put your faith in us and we have let you down twice already this year."

Harry just shrugged: he hadn't really expected protection from his elders since the moment he had stood against Voldemort and won. He knew only too well that there was no perfect solution to the enemies he had made when he had killed his nemesis, nor to those who found him a tempting prospect for binding, and it had not occurred to him to blame anyone except Lucius Malfoy for the horrors of Monday.

"At least I think we've reached the darkest point now," he suggested and was pleased when his mentor nodded his assent.

"Although I fear it is indeed very dark," Dumbledore sighed, "especially for Draco."

"Have you spoken to him?" Harry asked, searching for news of how his loved-one had met the morning.

The headmaster nodded again and expounded, "I have just come from him. He is much improved on yesterday morning, which I am told by Madame Pomfrey and Draco himself is significantly down to you, thank you."

Harry glanced away at that, the guilt he still carried for dragging Draco into conflict with Lucius making him feel unworthy of the gratitude.

"And Draco also tells me that you have agreed to accompany him to his father's funeral," Dumbledore spoke with a question in his voice and Harry glanced back up at the request for confirmation.

"Yes, if that's alright," Harry agreed.

"Thank you again for your generosity of spirit, Harry," the old man inclined his head, but confirmed, "but are you sure you feel able to be present at an event which could prove extremely stressful for you?"

"As long as it helps Draco," he returned emphatically, and all doubt dropped away from his mentor's features.

"As you wish, My Boy," Dumbledore drew a line under that subject, but stepped deftly on to another with, "On a related note. Madame Pomfrey has informed me that you are well enough to return to school. However, I wish to ask a favour of you: in the next few days, Draco will be in much need of a friend and companion..."

"If Draco wants me to, I'll stay," Harry assumed the rest of the request.

The headmaster smiled at him and said for a third time, "Thank you."

Harry didn't want thanks, he just wanted Draco to be alright.  



	32. Solace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry has some healing to do as well and he gets some good advice from a good friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [beren_writes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/beren/pseuds/beren), my excellent beta reader

His clothes and an assurance that Draco was happy for him to stay was delivered by Madame Pomfrey a few minutes after Dumbledore left, and so, deciding that sooner was better for his courage than later, Harry dressed and hatched a plan for entering Draco's sphere as casually as possible. It was not that Harry did not want to be with Draco, it was the fact that he was not sure on what footing he would be making his arrival. He was sure Draco needed him, and his instincts were telling him to wrap his loved-one in a thousand protection spells and keep him away from the world, but his head was warning him that Draco would react badly to such a smothering attitude, and his head was making Harry cautious.

The plan was not really much of anything: Harry picked up his herbology homework and headed to the room next door. When he was bidden to enter, he strode in leaving the door ajar, gave Draco, who was once again staring out of the window, a quick hello and then, dropping his books on the bed, announced, "I'm having a problem with this fungus homework."

Draco did not look convinced, but he did turn away from the view and asked dubiously, "Oh yes?"

"It's this question about the Mud Cap versus the Earth Cap mushroom," Harry barrelled on, knowing his acting was pretty lame as he tried to fake confusion, but he was satisfied when Draco walked over to him and looked over his shoulder as he pointed to the book. "I can never remember which one is which. Is it the Mud Cap or the Earth Cap that has the black frills?"

Harry paused and waited for a reply. The one he received was not an unexpected outcome, but Draco directness was as he observed, "I know what you're doing."

Harry didn't dare even glance at his loved-one's face as he failed to gauge the tone of Draco's voice, but he chose to be as direct as he asked, "Is it working?"

Another pause, and Harry's heart entered his throat once more as his plan fell to pieces in front of him. However, after a moment, Draco answered, "Neither have black frills when they are fresh, but the Mud Cap develops them when it begins to rot, when it is becoming poisonous and ready for a Death Sleep potion, before that, both are edible."

The part about the Death Sleep potion wasn't in any of the text books Harry had looked at and he glanced at Draco, once more aware that his loved-one had much darker knowledge than he did.

"My father stocked our library at home with books on dark magic," Draco shrugged, but his nonchalance was lost in the grief Harry could see in his companion's face.

Harry closed the textbook and addressed what he saw with, "No matter where we start, we're always going to end up back here, aren't we?"

Draco nodded, and his eyes were damp as he dropped his gaze. He was clearly struggling to contain the emotions within, but Harry didn't let his loved-one face the dilemma; swiftly, he wrapped his arms around Draco and pulled him in close. Draco didn't reach back, but neither did he resist the hold, and gradually, almost imperceptibly at first, he began to tremble. Then Harry heard a strangled sob escape from Draco's throat.

Harry had left the door open, and, knowing how he would feel about breaking down in public, he decided to close it. He didn't look behind himself, nor did he really think about what he was doing, he just sent out his magic and he heard the door click gently shut. Draco had to have heard it too, because another sob, louder, less controlled broke out of the distraught youth's body and Harry pressed closer. Now Draco reached back, fingers bent into claws that grabbed Harry's clothing.

Harry's heart tore into pieces as his loved-one crumbled in his embrace, but he stayed strong and calm, holding back the pain that was ripping him to shreds and offering all the strength he could muster to Draco.

* * *

Draco calmed a little while later, and, for Harry at least, the lowering of his loved-one's shields had put paid to any need for wiles, and he had no further reservations about showing his concern for Draco. He did not really know what to say when faced with the guilt and loss that were so obvious in Draco, so he just let his loved-one begin to talk.

"...I didn't know what to do," Draco admitted, at last meeting Harry's gaze directly as he spoke about the moment he had learned of the siege. "I had to make a choice, one that's been coming since you killed Voldemort, and I couldn't handle it."

Harry looked back, and he could see the confusion still sitting behind Draco's eyes. They'd been over some of this ground before, in the greenhouse, but it had ended in their usual cessation of hostilities. The stark decision between his father and the rest of the world that Draco had faced was all too clear to Harry now, and he finally understood, if not forgave, the cruelty that had come his way.

"Why did you chose us?" Harry asked, deliberately using the plural as he thought about Jono and the others.

"I didn't, not at first," Draco replied and his deep eyes dropped to the floor once more. "I ran and hid, panicking, I had no idea what to do. Then a friend gave me some advice."

"That wouldn't have been Salazar Slytherin, would it?" Harry decided to clear away another secrecy before it began.

Draco looked shocked and defensive at the enquiry, so Harry checked, "You met the others as well?"

Slowly his companion nodded.

"You weren't the only one who needed refuge this term," he shrugged.

"How come you knew about me, but I didn't know about you?" Draco sounded offended and there was suspicion in his voice.

Harry did not rise to the accusation that lay under Draco's tone, instead he explained openly, "Once, when Salazar rushed off I guessed that a Slytherin needed him and Godric isn't as good at keeping a straight face as Salazar."

"You knew I was vulnerable and you didn't try to use it against me?" Draco still sounded disbelieving and Harry once again was given an uncomfortable view of how his loved-one's mind worked.

At that, Harry did get a little annoyed and he snapped, "Until you pushed me over the edge last Saturday, I was trying to find a way to make things right."

That didn't make sense to Draco and Harry settled as he saw the complete incomprehension in his loved-one's face: there were still things about Draco with which he was going to have to learn to live.

"I was trying to destroy you," Draco expressed his disbelief in words.

It was Harry's turn to look away at that as the rawness of his feelings about his flight into the storm took him by surprise. He'd put all his emotions on hold since persuading his boyfriend to try again, taking things step by step, but the dramatic outcome of the siege had brought everything back into focus, and Harry found himself as much at the mercy of his emotions as Draco was.

"I'm sorry," Draco interrupted Harry's thoughts, in fact bringing them to a complete halt as he heard something he had never expected.

His surprise must have shown as he glanced up, because Draco snorted and derided himself with, "That far out of character, eh?"

The pair continued to do the awkward dance of gazes that never quite had them looking directly at each other as Draco failed to hold the look that Harry wanted him to.

"I didn't expect an apology," Harry replied honestly. "Your actions have spoken for you."

"I didn't do it all because of you," Draco sneered explosively, clearly defending his ego.

Harry could have been offended, but the shock of the barbed defence showed instantly in his companion's eyes and Harry surprised himself as his emotions remained much more mature than the shouting match that could have ensued.

"Good," he replied, gaining the same open-mouthed reaction in Draco as he was feeling, if not showing, "I don't want that responsibility."

Draco just continued to stare, their dance having come to a sudden halt.

"I may have been more interested in not ripping myself apart, but I heard what you said to your father," Harry explained. "The war's over and I'd rather have you wanting peace than just wanting me."

His loved-one was still silent for a while longer, and Harry had no more to say, so he just waited as the thoughts behind the sharp, grey eyes were put into words.

"How selfless are you, Potter?" Draco eventually asked, and there was hostility in his voice.

"It's not selflessness," Harry replied openly, "as I said, too much responsibility. We already know that me wanting to rip your clothes off most of the time doesn't make much of a relationship and there's no way it would stand up to us being on opposite sides."

"Just because I want peace doesn't mean we're going to agree on things," his loved-one warned, and the burr in Draco's voice made Harry smile.

"That would be boring," he quipped back and his smile became an outright grin as he let just a little of his libido through.

Draco laughed as well, but stood up and walked over to the window, wrapping his arms around his chest in a gesture Harry interpreted as self-protective. He was a little disappointed that there was no sexual repartee, but it was not unexpected and he put his ardour away with more ease than normal. Harry remained seated on the bed where Draco had left him and decided just to wait once more for the distant gaze of his loved-one to bear more fruit.

* * *

The Art of Conversation had been notably absent all day, any talk being stop-start and interspersed with silences, but when Harry finally left Draco's room after they had shared a quiet supper, he was not worried that they had passed no more than a few words in the last hour. They had spent the time in contemplation, a silence shared by friends where talk was not necessary. He had left his loved-one with a light peck on the cheek, but had taken away the knowledge of a forming bond that he was sure would see them both through the trials of Lucius Malfoy's funeral.

Despite having done very little physical activity, even silence had provided a rollercoaster of emotions throughout the day, and Harry was exhausted: as he closed the door on Draco, that came out in a yawn and a stretch.

"It looks like after choosing so carefully, I have come at the wrong time anyway," a familiar and welcome voice made Harry turn and look up the corridor with a smile on his face.

"Remus," he greeted gladly, and walked over to where his friend was standing beside his own room's door. "It's never a wrong time."

"Are you sure, you look like you're worn out?" Remus checked, his face serious.

"Couldn't sleep now if I wanted to," Harry admitted with a shrug: he had been planning on some meditation on his magic to ease away the stresses of the day, but a talk with Remus was a much more inviting and less lonely prospect.

His friend did not make a comment on that, he just nodded and let Harry lead the way into his room.

"I've been hearing good things about you from the first years," Remus observed as Harry sat down on the bed and indicated for him to take the chair. "Your talk with them seems to have helped them pull together."

"Glad I could help," Harry caught himself shrugging again. "They've had a tough time."

"And they aren't the only ones," his friend's tone changed from one of praise to one of reserved concern and the hair on the back of Harry's neck stood up. "How are you coping, Harry?"

Coping hadn't really been an issue: he was needed, and Harry had just dug in, throwing aside his own experiences in favour of helping others.

"You know me," he shifted his shoulders a third time, but a nonchalant smile failed him as he continued, "just getting on with things."

"I thought so," Remus did smile, if somewhat sadly. "Well, Harry, since you seem to be taking care of everyone else, I am here for you."

"I'm fine," Harry dismissed quickly, but his heart had missed a beat and he looked down at his hands in his lap as something under his skin scared him.

"From that reaction, I would say you aren't fine," his friend was gently direct.

Harry glanced up at the calm, thoughtful visage of his part-time uncle and didn't know whether to deny the observation or not. A shiver ran down his spine, unfounded as far as his logical brain was concerned, but his instincts were better placed to be frightened.

"Lucius Malfoy's use of you was cruel and unjust," Remus put forth his opinion in his normal, unassuming tone, "and it has to have had an effect on you. Yes, I do know you, well enough to know that like your father, you will have ignored it up till now. Do you want to talk about it?"

Harry's instant reaction was in the negative, but he couldn't make his head shake or his lips move. He hadn't really noticed when he had put aside his emotions around the siege: first there had been simply healing, then exhaustion, then others had taken his attention. It wasn't as if he hadn't spoken about those events, but the role of mentor had shielded him from much of his own reactions and, as he was faced with Remus' honest assessment, Harry discovered that there was a great deal he had swept out of the way. His dreams, as always, had been where Harry had battled his demons, but the images from the sleeping world barrelled into the waking one and caught him with all his guards down.

Remus had made this kind of offer after Harry had killed Voldemort, and then he had shut out his friend. That choice had cost Harry dearly, but even armed with that hindsight, a defensive anger similar to the one he had felt then threatened to see him do the same thing again.

"What can I say?" he asked, stalling both the anger and his thoughts for a desperate moment.

"Anything you want to, or nothing," Remus sounded absurdly calm, he could not know the turmoil he had set off inside Harry. "I am not here to force it out of you."

The non-aggressive reply made his anger illogical, at least as it was aimed at Remus and his fury stayed inside, mixing with other emotions. The pain and fear he had suffered at the hands of Lucius Malfoy hit him properly for the first time since he had woken in the infirmary and Harry began to shake. It wasn't fair, it was never fair and the injustice of it just made his memories worse. His voice was small and confused as he asked, "Why me?"

Remus didn't answer, and Harry glared at his passive, sympathetic expression. Yet it wasn't really anger Harry was feeling and he blinked away the rage, repeating with resignation, "Why is it always me?"

His friend leant forward in his chair then and his face was earnest as he replied emphatically, "Because, Harry, you are good and honest and stand for everything they hate."

"So does Ron, so does Hermione," Harry retorted through his teeth, still most of his emotions tightly held inside; his shaking was growing worse.

Remus did not look happy at that observation, but he drew in a deep breath and his gaze showed he was considering his response.

"I won't deny fate has played a large part in your destiny, Harry," his companion admitted, "and you have done incredible things thanks to the hand that life has dealt you. I don't have any answers for you, I'm sorry. You are a very special person."

"I don't want to be special," the troubled Freehand moaned, his voice trembling like his body now.

This is how it had been in Dumbledore's study two years ago when he had wanted out. He had always known since then that there was no out, not for him, and it added to his sense of injustice.

"The only time they left me alone was when they thought I was a squib," Harry snarled, and his voice caught at the end of the sentence. "Now there's this bloody Freehand stuff as well. I want to be a squib again, just fade away into the crowd."

"You can't," Remus replied and Harry sat up straighter at the blunt reply.

Yet, there was no malice in his part-time uncle, not even a flicker of the ticking off the words suggested. Remus' face was incredibly sad as he looked back at Harry and, not for the first time, Harry knew this man understood the necessities of life. He had not chosen to be a werewolf, but he lived with it, quietly and without complaint, and his example made it difficult for Harry to snipe at him.

"How do you stop from being angry all the time?" Harry appealed to the kindred spirit he saw in Remus.

His friend smiled, not a happy gesture, but one that invited Harry into Remus' world and he answered, "I grew up with this, Harry. My parents taught me to accept what had happened and to find the best I could in my life. That doesn't mean I don't get angry; I do, and it can be very therapeutic, but in the end, to be angry all the time would just spoil things for me and those around me."

Harry looked away as the truth sank home. He wrapped his arms around his shaking frame. His anger wasn't gone, it would always be there when he thought about the unfairness of his life, but he put it away. His trembling continued, however, as other more vulnerable emotions filled the gap his rage had left and the young man admitted, "They were too strong, I couldn't fight them."

"Fighting doesn't always mean hitting out with magic, Harry," Remus countered, "and sometimes the best way to win is to understand that others are in a better position than you to do the work."

"I was so scared, completely helpless," Harry admitted, glancing at the floor and feeling like a coward despite what he had told his young friends.

Remus didn't say anything for a long moment, and his friend's silence made Harry look up, once he had looked into Remus' eyes, there was no turning away, and he was told emphatically, "You have nothing to be ashamed of. You were held under torture and from what I have heard from those held with you, you maintained a dignity few could have managed."

That observation was a surprise to Harry, since his own recollection of events rested more in the region of degradation than dignity and his ego, which had been battered to nothing during the course of the hostage situation, took a small boost. Remus must have seen the change, because he smiled again, and continued with a light chide, "Don't be so hard on yourself, Harry. You are very like your mother in that respect."

Harry was used to being compared to his father, not so often his mother and the comparison sent a warmth running from his neck to his tailbone and he too smiled.

"My father wasn't then?" he asked of the last Marauder.

At that Remus laughed, quite a deep chortle for him and he shook his head vigorously.

"Oh no," he answered fondly, "your father needed no help with his ego, in fact it was your Mum who brought him down a peg or two, just what he needed."

Harry found himself chuckling as well, and some of the weight which he had only just noticed on his shoulders lifted. However, his gentle reverie petered out in a thought that took him unawares. Maybe it was just thinking about his parents again, or maybe it was the grief he had witnessed in his loved-one, but Harry spoke openly and seriously as he admitted, "I miss them."

It was old emotion, the feelings of the child who had grown up knowing his parents were gone and never coming back, but it was far from stale, and Harry's eyes stung with the momentary pang for the loved ones who had been so cruelly taken from him.

"So do we all," Remus agreed, offering solace in camaraderie. "They would have been very proud of you, Harry."

"Not in the last few weeks they wouldn't," Harry scoffed to try and brush away the old hurt inside.

However, he had traded one difficult topic for another, which seemed to be the way of the current conversation and he looked away as Remus frowned.

"The fight you had with Draco showed you how far you are willing to go when pushed," Remus did not scold, more offered advice. "Mark it and beware of your temper in the future."

"It wasn't like when I attacked Professor Dumbledore," Harry confessed. "That was a mistake, I didn't know what I was doing till I did it. When I went for Draco, I was in complete control, and I wanted to," he paused, holding back from the term that was on his lips, 'kill', instead he settled for, "really hurt him."

"Learn from it, both emotionally and magically," came more advice.

Harry nodded his consent of that sentiment and then a yawn took him by surprise.

"I think, on that note, I should leave you to get some sleep," Remus decided, standing up.

Harry also stood rapidly, not ready for his friend to leave, but his objection was interrupted by his balance deciding he was indeed exhausted and he sat back down again more quickly that he had stood up.

"Are you alright?" his part-time uncle was by his side in one stride and reaching to steady him.

"Just been a long day," Harry reassured as the world righted itself quickly.

"You're shaking," Remus noted, sitting down next to Harry and kept a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Are you really going to be alright to go to Lucius' funeral?"

"No choice," Harry shrugged, his words definite and when he saw the concern still in Remus' eye continued honestly, "I'll manage. Wondered if I might one day get a chance to dance on his grave, but never thought I'd be there when they buried him."

Harry took a deep breath after that admission and felt his trembling diminish as he exhaled it slowly. His emotions were still mixed, the anger put away, the fear still causing an occasional shiver, but he was safe with a friend and the pique Remus had inspired was over. The pair didn't speak for a long while, as Remus played the roll Harry had for Draco and Harry gratefully took his time settling away from the stresses of the last few days.

Weariness began to take over and Harry realised his companion had been right about his needing sleep. When he did finally speak, it was to express his gratitude with a weary dismissal in his tone and he smiled at Remus as he told him, "Thanks for coming, Remus."

"I hope I have helped, not distressed you unnecessarily," the other man responded, taking the hint, standing up and stepping away as he did so.

Harry nodded and just watched as his friend walked towards the door.

"Goodnight, Harry."

"Goodnight, Remus."

* * *

The next morning dawned before Harry was ready for it, and so he was a little slow climbing out of bed and getting dressed, so much so that he had a call from Madame Pomfrey enquiring as to whether he would be taking breakfast with Draco or in his own room. Draco had not said no to sharing breakfast the previous day, so Harry went to his door. He knocked and was bidden to enter by a mumbled call.

Harry was in a good mood, he had slept well after discussing some of his demons with Remus, but the bright greeting he had ready never made it out of his mouth as he laid eyes on Draco sat stiffly on the edge of his bed reading a letter. Harry's concern immediately went out to his loved-one and he crossed the gap between them quickly, asking, "What's the matter?"

Draco glanced up at him and there was a strength in his gaze that, although not exactly putting Harry at his ease, made him less anxious.

"From Mother," Draco explained. "The funeral is set for tomorrow and she has asked that we arrive this evening for supper."

Going from a theoretical yes to concrete plans brought his promise home to Harry and the disquiet it caused must have been visible, because Draco stood, and laying a hand on his arm, asked Harry, "Are you sure you will come?"

"Of course," Harry almost barked the answer that had been given to everyone who had asked.

Draco's eyes widened, and Harry realised he was not being reassuring. He took a deep breath and forced a smile, sighing as he continued, "I promised, didn't I?"

"I was being childish when I made you say yes," Draco offered a way out, but he dropped his eyes nervously to the ground as he did so.

"Oh Merlin, I don't think I can cope: Draco Malfoy trying to be noble," Harry surprised himself as he resorted to what he normally considered a Slytherin jibe.

Unsure shock was in Draco's gaze as the quip forced him to look back up at Harry, who smiled again, less forced this time and he rubbed the hand on his arm gently.

"I'm going with you," he finished quietly, but definitely, and he thought he saw a flicker of relief cross his loved-one's features.  



	33. Into the Dragon's Den

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry sets foot somewhere he had never thought he'd ever go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [beren_writes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/beren/pseuds/beren), my excellent beta reader

In order to pack their things for the trip, after lunch, Draco and Harry had to leave the sheltered environment of the infirmary, and at first, Harry was reluctant to let Draco go to his dorm alone. He had to stamp on the urge to follow his loved-one when, after a polite thank you to Madame Pomfrey for all she had done, Draco headed off to the Slytherin dungeon. Harry stood and watched him go, his mouth set rigid with the effort it was taking to hold back his protective instincts. He was so centred on Draco's back, that when Madame Pomfrey laid a hand on his shoulder to attract his attention, Harry actually jumped.

"He will be alright, Pansy is waiting for him in their common room," she assured him with a gentle smile.

The pang of jealously that someone else was looking after his Draco was completely illogical, and Harry squashed it before it had really begun, but it did make him realise how absurd his mother-hen instincts were. He nodded and continued where Draco had left off with, "Thank you for everything, Madame Pomfrey."

The woman's smile grew a little more and she stepped back from him with a nod of her own, which Harry took as dismissal.

* * *

Gryffindor common room was almost empty when Harry hurried through it, since most pupils were in the first lesson after lunch. He nodded to a couple of fifth years who were working by the fire, but he was in no mood for conversation, so he carried on up to his dorm to do the packing he required. When he arrived at his room, Harry discovered that it was not only Draco who had a friend waiting for him, in fact, he had two. Hermione and Ron stood up from Ron's bed as Harry entered the room.

"Afternoon," he greeted their slightly nervous faces, in fact glad to see them and then teased, "Shouldn't you be in lessons?"

"Special dispensation," Hermione explained, taking him seriously.

Harry had been intending on heading directly to his bed to dump the small bag of possession he had collected while in the infirmary, but he came to a halt them, deciding that levity was not the way to go.

"Thank you," he told them both and he saw Ron visibly relax.

Harry then carried on his way and, dropping his bag on his bed then waved at his trunk absently. Obediently, the lid rose and Harry watched, blinking a couple of times. Most of his thoughts were still with Draco, and he hadn't considered the simple flow of magic he had used until he had seen the results. He smiled to himself as he felt the vague itchiness of the push disperse and settle back away from the surface without the need for absolute concentration.

"I just did it," he told his friends proudly, "no fires."

Hermione smiled supportively, Ron smiled as well, but the small victory was dwarfed by the seriousness in the pair. Harry hung on to the comfort of being in control of at least his magic, but he left it in the background as the ever-present prospect of Lucius Malfoy's funeral came back to the fore. He knew a frown wrinkled his brow, and it was good to be with friends who immediately asked through Hermione, "Are you going to be alright, Harry?"

He nodded, sure that he had to be alright, even if his stomach was doing flip flops now he was so close to leaving the familiar ground of Hogwarts.

"You look like you swallowed a bad potion," Ron was more direct than his girlfriend when it came to observations.

"I'm not exactly looking forward to it," Harry shrugged, trying to convince himself as much as his friends that he was ready to face what could be a house full of ex-Death Eaters and the British press, whom Draco had informed him would be at there.

He turned to start pulling the items he'd need for the trip out of his trunk, and quickly found himself flanked by his companions.

"I thought you might need this," Hermione began again, and shoved something right under Harry's nose where he was bent over the trunk.

Harry straightened and looked down at the offering: it was a tie, black and neatly folded in her hand.

"It's my spare school tie, I changed the colour, should last long enough for the funeral," the young woman explained into the pause that was Harry trying to work out how to react. "Only your tie was a rag after," she hesitate as they all knew to what she was referring, "after the explosion and I know you don't have another one."

Harry glanced from tie to the black jacket and chinos that was one of the few items that remained carefully packed and folded in his trunk: he was going to need the tie, and he showed his gratitude for his friend's foresight by taking her loan and replying simply once more, "Thank you."

Harry put the tie on top of his best clothes and lifted it all out of his trunk as one, placing the items on the bed. Then he reached for underwear and socks and one of his school shirts. Another set of clothing for the weekend that he had agreed with Draco he would be staying at the Manor then landed on the mattress as well and finally Harry paused as he looked at the luxurious cloak that his gaze had been ignoring. It wasn't that he didn't want to think about Draco, but it was that Harry was in a quandary about whether to take the cloak back to his loved-one or not, and he had enough to be thinking about and so did Draco.

"Take it," Ron surprised Harry with his insight and the fact that he was watching him quite so closely; Harry glanced across at his friend and was told, "If the weather is like this down South then Draco's going to need it."

Harry didn't doubt that, unlike the necessarily frugal Weasley, Draco would have a dozen cloaks of equally fine quality to protect him from the winter rain that was gripping Britain, but the decision was as good as any, so he chose to take Ron's advice, and grabbed the cloak.

When everything was out on the bed, Harry paused: it was only a moment where brain and body rested from the stress of the last few days, but it demonstrated Ron's concern, because he stepped into the quiet with, "You know, Mate, if you need us, we'll be there."

Harry didn't say thank you again, he just nodded his recognition and gratitude.

"Are you really going to be alright?" Hermione seemed to take Harry's silence as a bad thing.

Harry turned from his things on the bed and made sure he had both his friends in view as he assured, "I'll be fine. It's not me I'm worried about."

Harry sighed and his companions just looked at him expectantly, so he carried on, "I don't know if Draco will be able to hold it together. I've never seen him like this, he's completely lost."

Harry bit his lip as he stopped himself from revealing any more.

"He'll manage," Hermione made both Harry and Ron stare with the definite statement, but she just nodded to herself and confirmed, "He trusts you, Harry, and he's been able to let go; he won't do that in public, it's not in his breeding."

The observation had a hard edge and Hermione frowned as though she did not completely approve. However, she said no more, and neither did Harry; there was not point in worrying about what might be. He shoved everything rapidly into a bag and then headed back down the stairs, closely followed by Ron and Hermione.

* * *

Harry was shadowed all the way to his agreed rendezvous point with Draco: Snape's study, and he was glad of the company in the Slytherin dungeons. It wasn't exactly nerves he was feeling, but Snape had seen a lot more through Draco's eyes than anyone else outside the Great Hall, and Harry was unsure how his most-of-the-time enemy was going to treat him.

Harry was early, he had packed in a rush as his thoughts had gone back to his loved-one and wanting to be close to Draco, but Snape's door was half open, and he did not need to knock, as a call came from inside just as he reached it, "Come in Potter, and bring your friends with you."

Harry didn't bother trying to work out how Snape had known it was him: he's been caught out enough times in class to assume that his teacher had numerous techniques for watching and identifying pupils. As the trio walked in, Snape stood from behind his desk, imposing his authority as usual, but he did not sneer as was his normal habit when regarding Harry.

"I trust you are well?" the professor surprised Harry with the enquiry, even when there was no concern in the tone.

Student had known teacher for long enough to know that personal concern for his well being was not in Snape's make up, so Harry was looking for the Slytherin reasoning behind the pleasantry as he replied, "Yes, thank you, Sir."

"Good," Snape nodded, "I would not wish to entrust one of my charges to an invalid."

The jibe was delivered with Snape's usual venom, but this time Harry read the message beneath very clearly: Snape was worried about Draco and he was placing him in Harry's care.

"Draco will be fine with me," Harry replied much more directly, which gained a raise of eyebrow from the professor.

Harry thought from the appraising look he was being given that Snape might continue with some other disparaging remark. However, Harry was not the only one who had packed fast, and he was alerted to the presence of someone else at the door as his teacher's eyes flicked in that direction. Harry turned, and was greeted with the sight of his loved-one, pale and solemn, shadowed closely by a worried-looking Pansy. Draco was holding himself tall, composed, and there was a stiffness to the presentation that set Harry's teeth on edge. It didn't take him long to realise why the walls had gone up: Draco's gaze, as it traversed the room, passed rapidly over Hermione and Ron.

Harry wasn't the only one to have picked up the awkwardness, because Snape dismissed, "Thank you, Miss Granger, Miss Parkinson, Weasley, you may go."

Harry turned to his friends as Pansy began a quiet goodbye with Draco.

"Just call," Ron immediately reminded Harry of the promise he had made in the dorm room, and Harry smiled.

"Thanks," he replied.

"Hope everything goes alright," Hermione sounded like she wasn't happy with her choice of words, but Harry took the sentiment behind them.

"See you Sunday night, Mate," Ron finished and began moving to the door.

At that point, Ron surprised even Hermione as he paused opposite Draco and told him, "My condolences, Malfoy."

The Weasley was gone before the Malfoy could really react, and so he didn't see the small burst of shock that rattled Draco's façade for a moment. Hermione settled for a pat on Harry's arm and then a nod of respect to Draco, after which, Harry noted, she left in the company of Pansy.

"Gentlemen," Snape drew Harry's attention away from the door, "are you ready?"

Harry nodded and then looked to Draco for confirmation. Draco also inclined his head, still firmly behind his barriers. At that reaction, Harry found himself swept out of the way as Snape crossed his room in a couple of strides and placed a hand on Draco's shoulder. Harry recognised the look of loss that was trying to break onto Draco's face at the sign of concern, and in some ways he admired the force of will that kept it back.

"I will see you tomorrow," Snape told his charge with a kindness in his voice that was totally alien in Harry's hearing.

"Thank you, Sir," Draco replied, a crack in his tone healing before the end of his words.

Snape stepped away from Draco and indicated to the fireplace, telling him, "Your mother is waiting."

* * *

Travelling the Floo Network was always a stomach turning experience, but Harry's guts were churning for very different reasons when he stepped out of the fireplace at Malfoy Manor. As he blinked the soot out of his eyes, Harry found himself looking up a wide oak staircase which swept up the middle of the room and split both right and left to rise up to a balconied first floor. After Hogwarts, Harry was used to grandeur, but in a family home, such a presence was a different matter. Portraits looked down on him from every wall, some their faces set in disdainful grimaces. Harry looked round at them all, half defiant of the snobbery on display and half in awe of such history. When his eyes came back to ground, Harry was being regarded by Draco stood close to Narcissa Malfoy, and a couple of House Elves, who were bowing low.

Narcissa Malfoy had her hand protectively on her son's shoulder and she did not look at all comfortable, but as soon as Harry was looking at her she told him with a noble incline of her head, "Welcome to our home, Mr Potter."

"Thank you, Mrs Malfoy," Harry returned politely and continued, "and please call me Harry."

Narcissa dipped her brow one more time in assent of the offer, but she made no reply to it. Awe was rapidly shifting to discomfort for Harry as he waited for whatever was going to happen next. Draco didn't look like he was going to be any help in the matter, and Narcissa was clearly trying to decide how to interact with a recent enemy. They were all saved from the indecision by another House Elf trotting into the room and bowing low like her brethren.

"Yes, Tatty?" Narcissa turned to the creature, a small sound of relief in her tone.

"Madam, Andromeda Tonks is wishing to speak with you in the drawing room fire," the little creature informed the gathered company.

Narcissa's jaw did not drop too far: she was far too poised for that, but Harry saw the shock cross her features. Thanks to Sirius' history of the Black family, Harry was well aware of the schism between the sisters, and he watched mother and son pass a look that said there had been no indication that the relationship had changed. Nothing was spoken, but Draco put his own palm on the hand that was on his shoulder and gently removed it. His glance went once off in the direction from which Tatty had come and the encouragement to answer the call made Harry's heart beat faster; it was not merely at Hogwarts that divisions were being addressed.

"Please excuse me," Narcissa nodded yet again to Harry, but her neck muscles were flexing in a way that made Harry think the woman was suddenly very nervous.

Draco watched with Harry as his mother swept away, walking just a little too fast to have been calm. Once she was out of the hallway, Draco worded disbelief with, "They haven't spoken since Aunt Andromeda married that muggle."

"Then it's about time," Harry replied, stepping up to his loved-one and sliding an arm around Draco's shoulders.

Draco didn't look like he knew what to think, so Harry's opinion held sway. His sign of affection also moved the moment along, and after a deep breath, Draco stepped out of the hold. That surprised Harry, and worried him, and that concern doubled when Draco frowned. However, he did not have a chance to word his thoughts before his companion revealed the source of his new awkwardness.

"Let me show you to your room," Draco began, glancing at the floor in a very uncharacteristic way. "There are guest quarters in the East Wing, or," he hesitated, "or there's my room."

The sheer lack of confidence in the normally cock-sure Prince of Slytherin made Harry want to reach out to him again, but he resisted the urge, knowing it would not be taken well. Draco was drawing a line, and it was Harry's choice whether to step over it or not. Harry's already racing pulse was skipping beats at the offer before him. Sleeping arrangements had not occurred to him before, but now he recalled the confusion in his own feelings that he had experienced when he had invited his lover into his bedroom. In many ways, things were much clearer now, but with such clarity, the invitation held much more weight than the frivolous meeting of bodies that had happened at New Year.

"Your room," Harry decided, his voice breathy not with the normal lust that had accompanied previous invitations, but with nerves that he didn't really understand.

Draco looked up then, and Harry smiled at him, not sure what image he was projecting. The uncertainty was still very clear in Draco's gaze: his foundations would take more than this to firm up again, but Harry hoped he was adding to the new mortar piece by piece. Silently, Draco then turned to his nearest house elf and handed the expectant creature his bag. Since the second elf was also bouncing up and down on his heels, his arms held out to Harry, Harry did the same with his bag. The duffle was nearly as big as the diminutive servant, but he managed admirably and was gone with a loud pop.

"This way," Draco began up the stairs, and with one more look at the grand surroundings, Harry followed.

* * *

Where Hogwarts had large stone walls and intricate tapestries, Malfoy Manor had fine wood panels and ornate plaster friezes. However, when it came to daunting a newcomer, the two locations were on a par, because although Harry tried to keep track of where Draco was leading him, by the time they reached the door of the bedroom, Harry was not sure he could find his way back to the hallway. They were still on the first floor, he thought, but there had been numerous short flights of stairs up and down where corridors met each other.

However, Harry lost interest in how he had reached the room when curiosity about what was behind the door took over, and he stood close behind Draco as his loved-one swung in the heavy oak panel. Draco's room was, on first inspection, very neat, but Harry had been used to that, living away from the Dursleys for so long each year (he wasn't sure if Aunt Petunia fumigated when he wasn't there, but the place was always spotless when he returned, and he always made sure anything precious went to Hogwarts with him, because it would undoubtedly have been long gone otherwise). The room was also palatial, easily as large as the entire ground floor of Harry's cottage, the bed alone would have filled his bedroom at home, but that wasn't what struck Harry the most. What caught Harry's eye was the junk: it may have been more expensive and less battered than the stuff he'd seen lying around Ron's room at the Burrow, but it was still the ordinary things Harry had come to expect from any young wizard's room.

There were posters on the walls, some Quidditch, some pop, all of them faded like they'd been there forever. An old racing broom was propped up in one corner as well, with Slytherin colours tied around its handle. Unlike Ron's room, there was a desk to the side of a large bow window, and books, hundreds of books in half a dozen book cases. Harry had never visited Hermione's house, but he had the feeling her room would have just as many. Following Draco into the room, Harry was smiling to himself as he was making the comparisons, and only realised he must have looked like a star-struck tourist when Draco turned to him and commented, "Is it that different?"

Harry knew the statement had more to do with the reassessment Draco was making of his life than any reaction he was having to his surroundings, but he straightened anyway and was glad when he could reply honestly, "Actually, I was thinking how similar it was."

Draco's instant reaction was a frown that said he did not believe him, and so Harry added, "Okay, it's bigger, much bigger, but it's not the Twilight Zone or anything."

"That's a muggle analogy, isn't it?" Draco checked, seeming to understand it anyway, and he continued to walk over to the bed where the elves had already left their bags.

His companion's interest felt a little strange, but refreshing to Harry, and his more suspicious side was expecting more when he answered in the affirmative.

"Have you ever met Edward Tonks?" Draco confirmed Harry's suspicions rather more directly than he had expected from the normally devious Slytherin.

"No," Harry shrugged, and deliberately sat down on the bed next to where Draco had begun to rifle through a bag so that he could see his loved-one's face.

"I know next to nothing about Aunt Andromeda, or Uncle Edward, and I only know about Nymphadora because she's an Auror," Draco admitted, his brow furrowed by what Harry could only interpret as confusion.

"Well, first thing to mention is don't call Tonks Nymphadora," Harry advised with a grin he hoped would be infectious, but Draco's frown just deepened.

Harry paused and looked hard into the gaze that had met his levity. A half-blood cousin was merely a token in the deeper concepts that were accosting Draco and so Harry addressed them directly with, "Do you want to know more about muggles?"

Harry was looking close enough that he saw the inbred disdain flash across Draco's features before his loved-one turned away again. Harry didn't stand up and try and gauge the rest of the sharp expression: there were some things Draco clearly wanted to hide still, so he just waited for a response.

"Not really," came the blunt reply.

"Tom Riddle was a half blood like Tonks," Harry caught his own temper at the reaction, but still bit off the end of his words.

Draco visibly stiffened and walked over to his desk, playing with the objects there rather than his clothes.

"We're never going to agree on everything, Potter," he warned, hostility in his voice.

"No, Malfoy, we're not," Harry barked back, throwing a derisive emphasis on 'Malfoy', "but we can at least try and see each other's point of view."

Draco still didn't turn around, but he didn't say anything either. His loved-one's silence was telling of the conflict in him to Harry, and he followed his instincts; Harry stood up, walked over to Draco and wrapped him in a hug from behind.

"Don't try and work it all out now," he advised.

Draco surprised Harry when he laughed, not an amused sound, a little sad if anything, and he said, "That's what Salazar said when I went running to him that day, but it has to be worked out eventually."

"Don't you ever just want to leave things to work themselves out?" Harry revealed a little of the frustration he felt at the Slytherin attitude to life.

Harry released Draco as his loved-one turned, and he stepped back to properly see the disquiet there in. Draco was still frowning, and his grief was obvious as he explained, "Life _is_ a chess game, and the last time I didn't work out all the possible moves, my father died."

Harry was no stranger to blaming himself for unpleasant events, and he recognised the guilt in Draco: it made him irrationally angry. He hadn't had much time to himself in the last few days, not awake anyway, but what he had had, he had spent thinking, and Harry had come up with a theory about Lucius Malfoy. He had not thought about sharing it with Draco, but the mixture of pain and self-loathing in his loved-one made his tongue loose.

"Chess game or not," he began, trying not to yell, but hearing the hard edge to his voice, "no matter how many moves you had worked out, your Dad had check mate every time."

Draco's eyes widened at the harsh tone, and his defences were non-existent; Harry took advantage and barrelled on, "I saw you get him out of the way of the stunner: you were going to try and get him out of there, weren't you?"

His loved-one hesitated, very unsure of himself, but then he looked away with a small nod.

"He would never have allowed that to happen," Harry calmed down at Draco's inhibited response, and he softened his voice as he realised he was about to ease one pain by introducing another.

Draco glanced back up at him, anxiety in his face, but it was hardly a demand, more of a helpless enquiry as he asked, "What do you mean?"

Harry took in a deep breath, not allowing himself to be unsure of his theory. He reached out and rubbed his loved-one's arm as he explained, "The man who left Azkaban was not the same man you once knew. That list of demands was a smokescreen; they were too many and too impossible. He just wanted revenge. He had every intention of killing me as slowly and painfully as possible, and then blowing Hogwarts apart."

Protective anger flared in Draco's gaze at the revelation, and Harry had no way of countering it, so he just took the hostility as his loved-one ripped away from him, stalked across the room and snarled, "You're a fantasist Potter."

Harry didn't say anymore: he had heard the pain that went with the fury and knew there was nothing to be said. Draco kept on walking straight out of the door.  



	34. First Night Nerves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are awkward at Malfoy Manor, but Harry makes a new friend anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [beren_writes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/beren/pseuds/beren), my excellent beta reader

Part of Harry had wanted to dash after Draco and try to make things better, but the rest of him had been through the same thing with Sirius' death, and knew the deliverer of harsh truths would not be welcome again so soon. So he had stood a while at the desk, looking out of the window beside it, but despite the earlier invitation into the room, Draco's rapid departure left him feeling like an uninvited guest. He would have liked to have taken a closer look at some of the junk lying around to find out a bit more about the child Draco had been, but the interloper chose instead to go and explore the many corridors he had passed on his way to the bedroom.

Harry allowed himself to get lost, assuming that Narcissa would be talking to her sister for quite some time and knowing that he was the last person Draco would want to see for a while. He'd never been that interested in architecture, or interior design, but Malfoy manor had more than mere decorations.

Harry had met the ghost of a cavalier on his way from the bedroom to what he thought was the back of the house, and had had to politely refuse a duel with either swords or wands. A statue of a dragon in a corridor decorated in a Chinese style had tried to breath fire up his arm and had reared very impressively when he had sidestepped the table, which it was defending, and finally he walked into a corridor which made him wonder if his sense of perspective had warped. Everything felt like it closed around him, the ceiling came down, the walls came in. However, it would have been brightly lit if rain hadn't been lashing at the window which filled the whole of the far end of the hall.

Harry paused at the head of the corridor, not sure if he could be bothered to explore its meagre length. The walls were a soft yellow, and the only door which was a metre or so down on the left was an eggshell blue. It didn't look that tempting. However, just as he was about to turn away a strong, jolly voice greeted, "Whatho, fabulosa, company!"

For a moment, Harry looked around for another ghost, but then he noticed an urgent tapping noise from the wall on his right and he saw the frame of a painting jumping up and down as its contents waved wildly. From his oblique angle, Harry wasn't sure what he was looking at, so he took the few paces down the corridor to find out. What he was greeted by was a shepherdess, all golden ringlets and flouncey ruffles who was bouncing up and down on her tuffet of grass in a most ungainly manner as she waved energetically.

"Hello," Harry replied, unable to help a smile that the enthusiasm in the portrait inspired.

"Gosh, it's been ages," the young woman shrugged and rolled her eyes as she calmed down a little. "Sorry, did I startle you."

"Not really," he answered, his smile growing.

"I can get a bit over enthusiastic," the painting explained, bouncing on her heels so that her ringlets danced in front of her face.

It was refreshing to see someone smiling, so Harry didn't object, he just laughed at the way his new acquaintance was swinging her skirts like a schoolgirl she had to have been ten years before the painting had been done.

"Oh, manners," the shepherdess slapped her hand across her face and then, with a curtsy that just wasn't elegant, she offered, "Esmerelda Malfoy at your service," however, then she stood straight, wrinkled her nose and continued with a snort, "but everyone calls me Bunny on account of the way I twitch my nose."

"Hello, Bunny, I'm Harry," Harry returned, deciding he liked the rather eccentric portrait.

The woman then took a look at Harry up and down, and, indeed wriggling her nose like a rabbit, she assessed, "Looking at you, I'd say you're a friend of Draco's."

He nodded, but decided not to elaborate.

"Now what is Draco doing back here in term time?" the portrait quizzed herself, rather than Harry, and continued before he could find the words to explain, "I'm all out on a limb up here, no-one tells me anything. Not that popular with the rest of the family, see."

That disclosure did not seem to bother the shepherdess, in fact she was grinning like it was a badge if honour.

"Squib, y'see," she batted her wrinkled nose this time, as though disclosing a secret. "Only reason I'm still around up here at all is that I died for King and country."

"Oh," Harry wasn't sure he wanted to talk about dying quite so close to a funeral.

However, Bunny did not seem to notice his discomfort and seemed to be making up for lost conversations as she barrelled on, "E Malfoy, 1915 to 1944. I was pretty good at the old lingos, so I went and spied in France. Got caught helping to blow up a railway. Still, no use dwelling on it, tracks still went boom, even if Gerry got me."

Bunny's eyes were wide and her arms were flailing everywhere excitedly as she described the explosion, which just did not go with the pretty white dress she was wearing, or Harry's recent unpleasant associations with such events.

"Bunny," Harry decided to divert the woman before there was too much talk of big bangs and fires, "if you were from the beginning of the century, then what's the dress all about?"

"Oh this," the diversion was successful as the young woman gathered up bunches of her skirt and petticoats and waggled them proudly. "Always liked to play dress up, and I was reading about Marie Antoinette."

"You read about a Muggle?" Harry spoke his surprise before he had really thought about it.

"Read anything, me," Bunny answered, shrugging again and still grinning. "Lots and lots of books, and I make sure all my charges get the bug too."

"Charges?"

Bunny pointed to the door opposite her position and nodded furiously as she told Harry, "Nursery: I get all the tots. Mind you, only been three since I was put up here."

The smaller dimensions suddenly made sense, and the idea of finding out more about Draco's childhood appealed again.

"Come inside," Bunny noted his interest as he glanced at the door, "I'll meet you there."

Harry didn't need inviting twice. Harry wasn't sure what he had been expecting when he stepped into the nursery, but a room covered in white sheets had not been it, and he came to a halt.

"Bit drab, isn't it?" his hostess noted his reaction from another painting which filled most of one wall. "And it has been so full of life."

Harry glanced at her, and then did a double take: Bunny was not a shepherdess anymore, she was dressed in what looked like a highwayman's outfit, long dark cloak, tricorn hat, breaches and even a mask to top it off. As he regarded her with a slack jaw, Bunny took the attention as a compliment, twirling round and asked, "Do you like it? I always tried to keep the little ones amused with my dress up; Draco used to love dressing up with me."

"He still does," Harry observed with another grin, not entirely innocently as he recalled the impressive green suit that had accentuated his lover's arse so nicely.

Bunny giggled and then continued, "We used to play for hours up here, costumes, book, whole Quidditch matches." Then the portrait straightened as she continued, "I used to hope Sissy and Lucius would have another child, a little brother or sister for Draco to play with: he used to get so lonely as a kiddie. They were doting parents, but an adult is never a replacement for tots your own age; I always thought Draco was too ready to be Pop's Little Man before he'd learnt to be his little boy."

Bunny sighed heavily and sat down on a tree stump that was available in the new picture. Harry didn't quite know what to say as he was given an insight he was not sure the Malfoy family would appreciate. Still, Bunny seemed to be making up for lost company as she continued, "But I don't mean to make it sound like little Draco was unhappy, but then you probably know him as well as I do. Haven't seen him since he came running up to show me his letter from Hogwarts: have you been friends since you started there as well?"

"Not exactly," Harry hedged as he began to decide how to explain this time.

However, Bunny was not as out of touch as to have been totally unaware of the last twenty years, and she gasped and Harry noted she was looking straight at his forehead.

"Harry," she spoke mainly to herself, "Harry Potter, aren't you?"

He nodded and waited for whatever the reaction was going to be. Bunny rose to her feet, clearly perturbed by what she had discovered, and Harry wondered if he was going to be sent away with a flea in his ear. However, after a long frown, his companion's expression just turned to confusion, and she wagged a finger at him saying, "How...why are you in this house?"

From Bunny's tone, Harry assumed she was familiar with the Malfoy opinion of him which predated the last few days. However, he was mildly surprised that there was no demand for him to leave. Harry shoved his hands in his pockets and explained, "Things have changed, Bunny."

He took in a deep breath, feeling funny about announcing Lucius' death to an ancestor, and told Bunny, "Lucius is dead."

"Oh gosh, oh golly gosh," the woman responded, pulling off her mask and wringing it between her fingers.

There were tears coming, Harry could tell, so he tried to dam the flood with, "I'm sorry, are you alright."

Bunny did not seem to be listening to him however, because she began to sniffle and asked the air, "Why didn't anybody tell me? I know I'm the batty old squib in the nursery, but there a hundred of them downstairs, you'd have thought one of them could take the time to come and tell me."

Harry had to agree that it was a pretty mean thing to do, and, from their short acquaintance, he had decided he liked Bunny, so he had half a mind to go and give the other portraits a piece of his mind. However, his first concern was his new acquaintance, even if she was just a painting, and so Harry knelt down in front of the now life-size woman, looked up at her bowed head and offered again, "I'm sorry."

"Was it something bad?" Bunny surprised him as she looked at the crumpled mess that had been her mask. "It had to be something bad to take him before his time. It was that Death Eater nonsense, wasn't it?"

Harry just nodded, stunned that a Malfoy would say such a thing.

"I knew it," the rather-too-pretty highwayman stood up and stomped. "We had nothing else but secret meetings and glory to the purebloods for years. It was his father's fault, always too hard on him, too strict, too proper, too much about history, not enough about the future."

Bunny seemed to be working herself up into a temper rather than crying now, and Harry was searching for something to calm her down when the anger just dropped away and, kneeling rapidly to Harry's position, she asked anxiously, "And Draco? Do tell me he's alright."

"He's fine," Harry offered with relief, and then decided he best clarify with, "Well, he's alive, and he's not in gaol."

Despite Bunny's opinion of the Death Eaters, Harry was uncertain about continuing, but the look in the woman's face needed more, so he began hesitantly, "He changed sides."

"Oh thank goodness!" Bunny sighed, flapping her hand and her floppy sleeve in her face like she was too hot.

Harry stood up as Bunny did too, and Harry recognised a lecture coming as the woman placed her hands on her hips. He just waited and sure enough, "It's one thing to be proud of your heritage, and quite another to say that it is all that should exist."

Harry smiled thinly and nodded, and his companion clearly remembered who she was talking to as her mouth stopped open at the beginning of another sentence. Bunny took a moment, then she smiled and, wagging her finger at him observed, "Preaching to the choir, aren't I?"

He shrugged.

"Where is Draco?" Bunny switched subjects again and frowned.

"We had a difference of opinion," Harry replied slowly, "and he..." he reached for polite words and failed.

"Stormed off?" Bunny was much more direct, and when Harry nodded, she wrinkled her nose once more. "Always was a bit highly strung."

Harry laughed at that, glad of the irreverence in his companion, but he straightened quickly as his admission reminded him he had responsibilities.

"Look, it was very nice to meet you, Bunny, but I think I'd better go and find Draco," Harry decided, and felt sure in confiding, "He's taken Lucius' death hard."

"Then shoo," Bunny took the admission well and waved him to the door.

The nursery only half seen, but a family a little better understood, Harry nodded to the twitchy-nosed goodbye and headed back the way he had come.

* * *

Harry was impressed with himself when he found his way back to the main hallway the first try. He hadn't really decided what to do, except that the main thorough fair of the house was probably best since he had no idea where Draco was. He was saved from any further decision-making, because, as Harry slowly descended the stairs, being glared at by some of the more hostile portraits (at whom, after the meeting with Bunny, he glared back), the elegant figure of Narcissa Malfoy appeared crossing the room. She came to a halt at the foot of the main flight, a smile, a polite expression, but still a smile that had not been there earlier, on her lips.

"Harry," she greeted cordially, sounding much more sure of herself than she had earlier, "I must apologise for abandoning you earlier: I had not been expecting my sister to call."

Harry couldn't really think of anything to reply to that, the Art of Conversation failing him, but it did not take more than a moment for mother to realise that son was not present and she asked, "Is Draco not with you?"

"He needed some time alone," Harry hedged, not wishing to upset his hostess.

The woman's polite mask slipped a little even with Harry's careful wording, and her worry was apparent. Chit chat didn't seem appropriate to Harry, not after the truths he had witnessed between mother and son, so he remained silent as he closed the final distance between himself and Mrs Malfoy. The accomplished hostess had recovered herself by the time Harry reached her, and her smile was back in place, albeit with both parties knowing much more lay beneath it. Harry knew his lack of British polite denial was making his companion uncomfortable, but he couldn't muster any pretence. Narcissa continued bravely, "How about tea in the day room?"

"That would be lovely," Harry found a little piece of a smile.

His response was taken with relief, and her curl of lip fixed in place, Mrs Malfoy led the way out of the hall.

* * *

Tatty had been and gone and returned with a tray holding a silver tea service, three delicate bone-china cups and a tower of cakes before Narcissa and Harry had properly settled into their seats. They went through the ritual of pouring tea sharing only the occasional look, as Harry failed to find anything to start the conversation, but once he was sat back on a high-backed settle, holding a cup and saucer and a plate of food that he didn't really want, there was no more activity to cover the silence. He waited dumbly for his hostess to begin.

Narcissa sipped her tea. Then she lowered the cup and saucer delicately to her knee. She looked a little like she was trying to read something in the tea leaves for a moment, and Harry just watched her. However, then he was met by a strong gaze and the woman told him, "It is very kind of you to agree to accompany my son."

Harry thought he heard some hostility in Narcissa's voice, and he certainly noted her discomfort in gratitude. Harry knew enough about Draco to know that with this family, impression was everything, and he guessed that Narcissa was having difficulty sharing familial vulnerabilities with a one-time enemy. After the battering of his own trust that Harry had suffered in the last few weeks, he could understand this woman's caution, but he didn't like it.

"Draco is my friend," Harry explained, trying not to sound quite as possessive as his hostess.

Trying and succeeding were two different things, and Harry saw Narcissa shift at his response. Maybe it was paranoia, but instinct told him then that he was being scrutinised just a little more. Narcissa smiled blandly, the expression not reaching her eyes.

"How did you become friends?" the woman asked, her emphasis on the end of the enquiry.

Harry took a gulp of tea, rather too hot to be comfortable, but preferable to any embarrassed pause. The less than innocent friendship had been bad enough to explain to his comrades and teachers, but to be faced with the protective mother of his lover was another matter entirely. Tact was not Harry's strong point, but he knew that now was a time for the art Draco had tried to teach him.

"Draco worked out what I was before I did," Harry decided to start at the beginning with a little praise for Slytherin guile.

Narcissa's smiled twitched at the corner, honestly, Harry thought, before she took a sip of her own tea and covered the expression. He continued, "After that, he kept trying to get me to use my magic. We started sparring," the euphemism slipped far too easily off his tongue for Harry's liking, but it satisfied Narcissa, so he pressed on, "and things just went from there."

Harry hoped he wasn't as red as the burning sensation in his cheeks suggested, but 'things' were something he did not want to discuss with Narcissa. His hostess had the upper hand, and she let silence fall: Harry wondered if he was supposed to keep talking, but his euphemisms had failed him, so he just waited, feeling awkward again.

"You find this situation difficult," Narcissa surprised Harry with the mostly statement.

Still, she waited for confirmation, so Harry replied in the affirmative.

"So do I," surprised him even more, and he felt his jaw go slack.

Narcissa wasn't smiling anymore, in fact, her hostility was more evident as she gazed at Harry's shock, but again she took her time and let her message sink in before she continued earnestly, "My son constantly surprises me, but you were, shall we say, foundation-rocking."

Harry wasn't sure if he was proud of himself at that moment; before the difficult choices of the last year, worrying Narcissa Malfoy would have been a feather in his cap, but this had nothing to do with scoring points. A woman in mourning was admitting to him that he was causing her more emotional problems. Yet there was nothing he could do about it, so he sipped his tea and hoped his face encouraged her to say what she felt was necessary.

"I was not pleased when Draco told me he had asked you to accompany him to this house: you and his father were mortal enemies, you understand?"

Harry nodded as eyes flicked over his expression: he more than understood that juxtaposition. Narcissa pursed her lips, and her eyes were damp in the light from the fire as she cast their gaze to the floor.

"I allowed it, because, with the choices Draco has made, there is little constant in his life at the moment. I have lost a husband and I have no wish to lose a son as well."

Good sense told Harry to get up and leave Narcissa to the grief that was so clearly in her face during that admission, but he was rooted to his seat by a mixture of sympathy and embarrassment. He could see the tears being held back by an iron will much like her child's and he didn't know how to respond. He froze completely when animosity and grief were aimed directly back at him in one look over tea cups, and he was prompted, "Do you even comprehend how significant your actions are?"

The door latch clicked and Harry was given an avenue of escape, but he resisted looking towards the disturbance, knowing that Narcissa's question was no idle one. He heard the swish of air as the door came open, and before the entrant was revealed, nodded once. Then, before he was faced with his hostess' reaction, quickly he flicked his interest to the doorway. Unsurprisingly, Draco was stood at the entrance, his hand still on the door handle and a look of suspicion on his face as he surveyed the occupants.

"Darling," Narcissa welcomed, a little too enthusiastically, but Draco walked immediately to her as she held out her hand to him. "We were wondering where you were."

Harry's powers of observation were not usually very sharp, but his concern for Draco meant that they were on overdrive, and he noted that his loved-one had to have been back to the bedroom, because he had changed his shirt. Harry wondered if the change of clothes had been an excuse for something to do when he had not been waiting for Draco's return. Harry determined not to feel guilty about not having been there, but the head was a long way from the heart.

Draco walked round the back of the settle on which Narcissa was stood, and seated himself at the opposite end of the three-seater to her.

"I went for a walk," he explained flatly, and his gaze when it passed over Harry still held some of the hostilities of earlier.

"Your hands are freezing," the mother fussed over her son, and instructed, "you need warming up."

Harry unexpectedly thought of Molly Weasley as he watched the far more pampered parent start pouring a delicate cup of tea. Draco took the offered cup with a thank you. Against the white of bone china, his lips were blue when he took a sip of tea. The thicker shirt made more sense then, and the fact the he had driven Draco out of his own home cut right through any logic that told Harry he had only been honest. Yet, now was not the time for apologies, and so he could only sit tight and wait.

* * *

There had been no time for the apology that was still at the back of Harry's mind all through afternoon tea. Even afterwards, when Narcissa had gone her own way to deal with final arrangements for the wake the next day, Harry had not managed to say more than two words to Draco before Tatty, who seemed to be head-elf, had arrived and asked to be shown the wardrobe being worn the next day so she could ensure it was all pressed. Draco may have been accustomed to talking in front of servants as if they weren't there, but Harry was not, and during a very long fifteen minutes where they went to the bedroom, a conversation of sorts had been had, but it went no where near to addressing the hard topic which was nagging Harry.

Tatty was a very efficient elf, and as soon as she had all the clothing in a neatly folded pile, she was gone with a pop. That rather left a void where Harry's attention had been, and so he found himself staring down into his duffle bag and running his hand over what he found there. The soft ermine trim of the cloak played through his fingers as he worked up the resolve to look Draco in the eye. His ear began to burn before he managed to decide how to word his apology, and, rubbing it instinctively, he glanced across at the heavy gaze which was already on him.

Draco had his arms crossed, and the hostility of their earlier conversation was still in his eyes, but there was also much more. Harry couldn't read the entire expression, but he knew enough to realise that Draco was conflicted, enough to be standing waiting for Harry to start the conversation. It was an upper hand, but not one Harry really wanted.

"I shouldn't have been so blunt," Harry decided to be honest, any Slytherin word games failing him.

Hostility turned very obviously to anger as Draco's eyes flashed, but Harry had a little indignance of his own, born out of his protective instincts towards Draco, and he challenged before his loved-one could say anything, "I will not lie and let you blame yourself for something you could never have changed."

That rather took the wind out of Draco's sails: he was still clearly angry, but his mouth remained closed in a thin line.

"I know it's difficult," Harry softened, and decided to risk revealing his own secrets in order to build a bridge. "For a long time I blamed myself for Sirius' death: I was the one who rushed off to the Ministry, he was there because of me, and I still carry some of that blame, but it wasn't all mine, Sirius made his own decisions, and he could be reckless. Your father knew his own mind, he made his own decisions as well, and you have nothing to blame yourself for."

"I betrayed him," Draco snarled back, his arms tightening across his chest, but he didn't turn away and his eyes were damp.

"You had no choice," Harry pushed, watching a dam breaking in front of him.

"I could have, could have..." his loved-one gasped, searching for answers and failing.

Harry had done this many times in the last few days, and as his heart went out to Draco, he took the couple of steps up to his loved-one and wrapped him in his arms. Harry knew what was coming, Draco was shaking, and he was tense in Harry's hold, but Harry persisted and the barriers broke down. Gradually, as this ritual had been repeated, Draco had begun to reach back more willingly, but this time he didn't at all, letting Harry know they'd taken a step backwards thanks to the harshness of reality, but he satisfied himself with not being resisted. When the sob came, Harry was ready and tightened his embrace.

* * *

Draco didn't cry long, he never cried for long and he always ended up embarrassed and prickly. Harry had let him head to the en suite bathroom without following, and he had sat patiently on the edge of the bed, playing with the ermine collar in his bag for the age it took for Draco to reappear. Draco was pale, making the red around his eyes all the more dramatic, but he was stood taller than when he had left, his composure back in place. Harry had his opening gambit already planned, and as he had with the homework, he chose to divert the moment.

"I have something of yours I've been meaning to give back to you," he intercepted any reservations in his loved-one as he stood up and began pulling cloak from bag.

Draco was next to him by the time Harry had extracted all of the luxurious garment and Harry handed it over, not quite sure of the look that was in Draco's eyes. Draco sat down on the bed, the cloak over his legs and he began to stroke the rich fabric in a manner that Harry could only interpret as reverence.

"Thank you," Draco told him, sounding a little breathless, "but you're mistaken, it isn't mine."

Draco paused a moment and his eyes narrowed just for a moment before he continued, "Well, I suppose it is now." He glanced up at Harry as he told him, "I borrowed this from my father's wardrobe."

Harry's heart immediately headed down through the floor as he judged that he'd done something wrong again. However, the descent was halted by an absent little smile that ghosted Draco's features. Those grey-blues looked away again as Draco chose to stare down at the cloak, but the smile remained as he explained, "Father used to wear this to every big winter occasion. When I was small, I used to wait on the landing for him and mother to come home. They'd walk into the hall to warm themselves by the fire, and I'd come rushing down the stairs. Father would open his arms to me and I'd wrap myself around him (he was never cold under the cloak). Then he'd put his arms over my shoulders and the cloak would come right round him and me. It always made me feel so safe."

Draco ran out of words, but he kept pawing the cloak and his eyes were far away. Harry stayed silent, not having anything to say to that very personal story. Imagining Lucius Malfoy, torturer and maniac, as a loving father was not something Harry could do very easily, so instead he focused on the implications of Draco's use of the cloak that winter night: had he been nervous and had needed a little support from his father's cloak, or had he just wanted to look good? With Draco, it was probably a bit of both. Harry filed the information away with everything else he was learning about Draco.

* * *

Draco seemed in a lighter mood after his revelation about the cloak, and time ambled on as the two young men just relaxed in each other's company. Draco seemed reluctant to leave the privacy of his room, and Harry was content to stay wherever his loved-one wanted, so they were still taking things easy when a knock on the door interrupted their isolated world, and Tatty had announced that dinner would be server in half an hour. That could have caused problems, because Harry soon discovered that dinner at Malfoy Manor was a much more formal affair than anything he had been used to. They were expected to dress for supper, and his only set of smart clothing had gone below stairs for the next day's preparations. So it was that Harry had gone to dinner in a borrowed suit.

Harry had been skinny most of his life, but Draco was slender, lighter boned than Harry, and so a few spells had been needed to make the outfit more-or-less fit. However, it wasn't just the clothing that made Harry uncomfortable at dinner. The table had to have been able to seat twenty people at least, and he found himself sat halfway down it, with Narcissa and Draco taking either end. The respite in his room seemed to have helped Draco, and Harry was glad that the natural leader was gaining more presence, but where one Malfoy was clearly improving, the other was losing the polite mask that she used with strangers.

"Your Aunt Andromeda has agreed to join us early tomorrow, before the service," Mrs Malfoy announced as the pudding course was coming to an end.

Harry had been listening to the scraping of plates for at least a minute before that, and Narcissa's tone was sharper than it should have been, barely controlled. Draco put down his spoon, having not touched much of the fruit compot anyway, and his gaze was more than concerned at the break in Narcissa's composure. Harry also put down his spoon, he hadn't been interested in food since the first course had satisfied any hunger he had, and the difficult atmosphere was not conducive to recreational eating. He did however eye both Malfoy's bowls with dismay: he knew Draco had not been eating much at all over the last few days, and he had barely started any of the fine courses Tatty had provided.

Narcissa smiled, but it was no more than a gesture, which, when trying to cover the slip, only revealed more of it.

"She is bringing Edward and Nymphadora at 9:30," the woman continued, and there were tears in her eyes that Harry didn't think had anything to do with the news being delivered.

"It will be good to meet them," Draco offered stiffly, his attention more on his mother's reactions.

"Yes," Narcissa agreed, and dabbed a hanky to her eye with a very shaky hand.

Harry was very aware that the room was standing on the edge of a cliff, and that his presence was only going to make the fall worse. Draco's knuckles showed white where he was holding the edge of the table as Narcissa grew closer and closer to the edge, and Harry was well aware he was the only thing stopping decorum from breaking and the son from rushing to his mother's side.

All the pretence was annoying the Gryffindor in Harry, but good sense and his concern for Draco told him he couldn't change things, so, coming to the end of his tether, he took inspiration from the other side of his personality and told his hosts, "I'm sorry, I hope you don't mind, but I have to go and get some homework finished."

The relief on Draco's face could not be hidden as Harry rose from his seat, nodded to the fixed expression on Narcissa's visage and then retreated. He heard rapid footsteps behind him before his hand was even on the door handle, and as swiftly as possible he opened the door, stepped through and moved to close the door without slamming it. As the wood came to, he heard one pained sob and then, his own emotions swimming, he shut himself off from the private family grief.  



	35. Reunion and Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius' funeral begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [beren_writes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/beren/pseuds/beren), my excellent beta reader

Harry didn't think he was going to be able to sleep, he was worried about Draco, but after an hour of pacing, he got ready for bed and climbed into the large four-poster that seemed to be the default style for wizarding families who could afford it. Worn out by the tension of the day, he did in fact drift into slumber before his loved-one appeared.

It was still dark when tiredness had given way to a doze that enabled Harry to sense company. He opened his eyes and made out a blurry figure sitting at Draco's desk scratching at a piece of paper by the light of a lamp. Retrieving his glasses, the familiar lines of Draco came clear to Harry, but it was not the finely presented man who had taken him down to dinner, in fact, Draco looked much more like the half-wild creature who had flattened Harry on the Quidditch pitch what seemed like months ago.

A swift check of his watch told Harry it was nearing 5 am, and, following his intuition, he asked, "Have you been up all night?"

Draco almost dropped his quill as he turned to what was clearly an unexpected enquiry. He frowned, openly harassed, and only afforded Harry a nod before he went back to the parchment. Harry climbed out of bed, and padded over to the desk in time to watch Draco grab the parchment, screw it into a little ball and chuck it away from the desk to join a pile of others.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked, rubbing one of Draco's shoulders, which was like a board.

"After I calmed mother down, she told me why she had been so upset all evening," Draco sighed, and to Harry's relief, relaxed a little, allowing Harry to pull him against his body. "She had been trying to write the eulogy for tomorrow, because there was no-one else to do it. She was distraught about it, saying she couldn't find the right words, so I told her I'd give the address. I'm good at this kind of thing, I should have been able to come up with something by now, but it all just sounds false."

Draco sighed and ran his hands rapidly through his messed-up hair, and then he asked, "What can I say about a homicidal maniac that's not going to sound false?"

Harry knew by the tone the question had been rhetorical, and earlier that day he might have been able to offer nothing but comfort for his troubled loved-one. However, the conversation with Bunny and the recollection about the cloak had stayed with Harry into his dreams, and their effect in the early hours was inspiration.

"Then don't try and write about the homicidal maniac," Harry began, his ideas forming: Draco gave him a withering look, but he pressed on, "You knew a man that none of the rest of us did. That thing you told me about the cloak, it was how you saw your dad. Talk about your dad tomorrow."

For a moment, Draco regarded Harry as if he smelt of something very nasty, but Harry didn't turn away from the aloof stare. The story of the cloak may have been something uncomfortable for him, as the two sides of Lucius Malfoy refused to make sense, but Harry was certain it was the answer to Draco's problems.

"Go back to bed, Potter," Draco told him, but his tone was quiet and suddenly very calm.

Harry knew his advice had been understood, if not totally accepted, and he also knew that the instruction had been more of a request. The look in Draco's eyes was still a little lost, and sad as well, but the frustration had gone for now. Draco was asking to be left alone, stupid suggestions from boyfriends unacknowledged, and, still sleepy, Harry took the dismissal without a fight. He didn't really know why he turned round and plodded back to the bed without protest, or why he curled over and went to sleep as quickly as he had woken, but he did know that it was getting light when movement from the desk area woke him again and he was sent a satisfied smile and a nod from Draco.

* * *

Harry didn't sleep after his second waking, but he did take his time getting up. Draco was clearly tired, but refused to put his head down for even a few minutes, and so they talked until Tatty showed up with two breakfast trays (which went untouched) and beautifully pressed clothes, which was when they started thinking about getting ready for the day that was heavy in both their minds. The service was set for just before lunch, and the only other appointment that Draco had mentioned was that Andromeda, Ted and Tonks were arriving before everyone else at nine thirty. Just in time for the arrival, the two youths left Draco's room fully suited and booted for the long day ahead.

Draco was looking regal in old-fashioned frock coat and breeches; on a London street he would have looked like he had stepped out of a Goth pub, but in the Manor, surrounded by his family's history, Draco fitted very well. He led the way down the stairs into the main hallway, and was greeted by his mother, who was equally attired in a bodiced dress of the blackest velvet Harry had ever seen. Harry hung back as son descended to his mother's side and just watched the quiet morning greeting. Both Malfoys were looking sleep-deprived, but rather than creating a haggard look as it did in most, the grey on their pale skin gave them a haunted, almost ethereal elegance.

When the two ghosts looked up at his slow descent, Draco held out a hand to Harry, and he took the last few steps quickly.

"Good morning, Harry," Narcissa greeted.

"Good morning, Mrs Malfoy," Harry returned, slipping his fingers between Draco's and allowing himself to be pulled to his loved-one's side.

Narcissa's gaze flicked over the joining of hands only once, and she revealed nothing about her feelings for such a subject as she announced, "Andromeda should be here any minute. I have asked Tatty to provide coffee in the drawing room."

The woman clearly had more to say about Andromeda's arrival, she was nervously wringing her hands at the mention of her sister, but, once again, Harry was aware that his presence was holding back any honest declaration of feelings between mother and son. On his part, Draco was holding very tightly to Harry's hand. They hadn't really spoken about the significance of Andromeda's presence in the house which she had not visited since marrying Ted Tonks, but with Beltrix Lestrange one of the dead at the battle between Voldemort and Harry, she was the only family Narcissa had left, and Harry was glad that some bridges of the past were being rebuilt already.

Thankfully the trio were not left in each other's awkward company for much longer, because a whooshing in the fireplace announced the arrival of guests. The first person to step over the grate was a familiar face, and Harry smiled more in relief than anything else as Tonks tripped over the metal edging to the hearth and he reached out with his spare hand to steady her. The young woman was the smartest Harry had ever seen her in a grey trouser suit, and her normally pink hair was a very ordinary dark brown.

"Thanks, Harry," she greeted with a grateful nod and then turned to her relatives. "Hello, Aunt Narcissa, Cousin Draco," she continued in a much more formal tone.

Harry had the feeling Tonks had been given strict instructions on how to behave, because she stepped up to a fixedly smiling Narcissa and gave her a quick peck on the cheek, and then she did the same with Draco.

"Welcome, Nymphadora," Nacissa returned politely.

"Tonks," Draco surprised Harry that he had actually taken his advice.

Narcissa's eyes widened a moment at the form of address, but Tonks smiled gratefully. There was no more time for discussion on the matter, however, because a second whooshing announced another arrival. Harry had never seen Andromeda Tonks, but the woman who stepped out of the fireplace was definitely a Black sister. All three had the same willowy frame, but where Narcissa was fair, Andromeda was dark. Narcissa didn't look like she was even breathing as her opposite stepped up to her.

"Hello, Darling," the younger sister greeted, all sorts of emotions in her voice.

That was all it took for Narcissa's composure to shatter and Harry heard a difficult whimper escape the proud woman's lips. Harry's fingers felt like they were in a vice as Draco stood very still and watched his mother crumble into her sister's arms. Andromeda glanced at them over Narcissa's shoulder and Draco told her, "The study is over there."

Andromeda nodded as he pointed to the private room, and with a sad smile then turned and led Narcissa away, even as the final whooshing sounded in the fireplace. Harry was still watching the retreat of the sisters when he heard, "Looks like Annie has it under control then."

He turned and was greeted by having to look up another couple of inches before he met a sincere gaze: Ted Tonks was a man going grey at the temples but built like a rugby player.

"Harry, Draco, this is my Dad, Ted," Tonks introduced.

"Please to meet you both at last," the man replied, holding out a large hand to first Draco, "Annie has told me about her and your Mum when they were kiddies, and it's good to meet you at last." Then Harry, "Dorie," Tonks made a face at that name, but said nothing, "doesn't stop talking about your exploits, Lad."

Tonks' cheeks were glowing after her father had finished, but Draco was the polite host and greeted cordially, "Welcome to Malfoy Manor. There are refreshments in the Drawing Room, if you'd like to follow me."

Draco had loosed hands with Harry in order to shake Ted's, and he did not restore the hold as he led their small group off in the opposite direction to his mother and aunt. He looked to Harry like there was a rod up his back, and the anxious watcher couldn't work out what type of impression Ted had had on him. Ted was probably the first with muggle blood in his veins to set foot in the manor, or at least the first to which the current generations would admit.

"You have a lovely house," Ted continued the conversation as they all moved into the Drawing Room. "Makes our suburban semi look a bit drab."

"Dad!" Tonks sounded like she disapproved of such an admission.

"Thank you," Draco accepted the compliment with an incline of his noble head and indicated everyone to seats.

Tonks and her father took two leather high-backed chairs either side of the fireplace, while Harry sat on the edge of a sofa in front of which Draco had come to stand.

"Would you care for coffee?" Draco continued playing host in the iciest way Harry had ever seen.

"That would be great, thanks," Ted nodded, beginning to look uncomfortable under the resolute gaze of the Prince of Slytherin.

Tonks just nodded and glanced at Harry, clearly disquieted by the reaction Draco was having to her father. Harry, from his position behind Draco's stance just shrugged. Draco poured the coffee while everyone watched in unsure silence, and there were some muttered thank yous as the beverages were handed out, but even when Draco had sat down, silence remained king. Harry looked at Tonks, and Tonks looked at Harry, and he knew it was going to be up to someone other than Draco to continue the conversation.

"Tonks, it's been a while, what have you been up to?" he began as enthusiastically as possible.

"Tonks?" Ted laughed and his daughter scowled.

"It's what I like to be called, Dad," she retorted at his amusement, and then turned back to Harry and told him, "It's been busy at the Ministry, we're still rounding up Dea-," she stopped in mid sentence, but it didn't take a genius to complete it.

The young woman looked into her cup, clearly embarrassed and a pause swiftly grew into more silence.

Harry was beginning to hope that Tatty would arrive with some kind of distraction when a loud clink of china made him glance over to where Ted had leant forward and dumped his cup and saucer on the low coffee table.

"This is daft," the man announced, fixing first Draco and then Harry with a hard stare of consternation. "We may not have met before, young man, but we're family, and we shouldn't have to pussy foot around each other. Let's start again. Hello, Nephew, I'm you're Uncle Ted, pleased to meet you."

Ted held out his hand across the table. Draco blinked back at him for a moment, caught out by the way Ted had barrelled through the ice wall in the room. Slowly, Draco reached out and shook the offered palm.

"Hello, Uncle," Draco spoke quietly, but his tone was at least a little warmer.

"How are you holding up?" Ted continued with the same directness as he sat back into his chair.

Another pause, and Draco's mouth was open slightly as the audacity of his uncle again caught his unawares.

"Better now Mother has someone to talk to, thank you," finally came the honest response, which shocked Harry.

"Annie was tying herself in knots yesterday," Ted replied with a knowing nod. "She was so worried about your mum, has been since your dad was put in Azkaban, and so I told her to call. It's a bad thing, all this, but maybe some good can come out of it, eh?"

At that, Draco glanced at Harry, and then, as he looked back at Ted he agreed, "Yes, I think it will."

* * *

Harry had never been to a funeral before, let alone a wizarding funeral, and he had not spoken much with Draco about it, so he had very little idea of what to expect. All he knew when he headed towards the back of the house was that he was heading towards what was most of the time the ballroom, but for this occasion had been set out for the funeral. The family was the last to arrive, all the other guests had been gathered directly into the hall. Harry hadn't explored this part of the house, so the only reason he knew that the double doors he was approaching were those to the ballroom was because, in front of them on two trestles was standing a coffin.

The group of six came to a halt a few feet away. Harry had been walking with Draco, and his need to protect meant he wanted to stay close, but, very deliberately, Draco loosed hands with him and went to Narcissa. Andromeda hadn't left Narcissa's side since she had brought her into the drawing room looking at least a little more composed. However, now, Harry saw the same emotions cross the dark woman's face as he was feeling as she relinquished that position of protection to her nephew.

The two remaining Malfoys took their place immediately behind the coffin, tall and elegant once more as Harry had seen them that morning: now he was not as impressed as he knew what the regal stances were hiding. Andromeda stepped backwards and took Ted's offered arm. He seemed concerned for his wife, and Harry watched a silent moment pass between the couple that gave him some comfort too.

Harry took Ted's lead and offered Tonks his arm. His companion smiled sadly at him and then slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. Harry nodded back and then shifted to face front, trying to find a little of the presence that the Malfoys were emanating.

They stood in silence for a few moments, in which time, Harry realised there was only one thing missing from the funeral procession: pall bearers. Narcissa gave him the answer to his barely thought question, her voice suddenly came clear and proud as she called to the air, "Ancestral powers, I mourn my husband here this day. With the right of our line, I ask that you bear him to his state."

Harry shivered involuntarily as the room chilled quickly in response. He was used to ghosts thanks to those at Hogwarts, but the four columns of mist he saw forming either side of the coffin did not look like any of the forms of spirits with whom he was familiar. Nothing human appeared out of the moving darknesses, and Harry was rather glad the figures remained blurred as his vision made out the outline of haggard things he did not want to fully see.

Tonks' hold on his arm tightened for a moment, and the woman leant over to him and told him in an awed whisper, "Fey mourners: I knew the Malfoy line had them, but I never thought I'd see them."

"Fey?" Harry asked for clarification as, once again his history of the wizarding world failed him.

"Way back when the Malfoys actually did good things, one of them helped out an unseelie fey prince. According to the legend, he thanked him by giving him a wife from the unseelie court and because of the faerie in their line, the family gets fey mourners at their funerals."

Tonks' explanation finished in a rushed hiss, because the doors of the ballroom began to open and Andromeda glared quickly over her shoulder for hush. Harry had barely begun to take in what Tonks had said when he looked past Draco and past the grey shapes which picked up Lucius' coffin and slipped the trestles to one side, and his thoughts came to a halt: the ballroom, a place of no small dimensions, was full.

Harry had thought about what to expect of Lucius' Malfoy's funeral: some press, and some ex-death eaters like Snape perhaps, but what he saw standing and turning to face the aisle in the middle of the room was most of the great and powerful of Wizarding Britain. He'd seen many of these people at award ceremonies after his victory over Voldemort, and as he took his first step towards the ceremony, Harry realised that funerals were not for the dead, they were for the living: Draco was the reason these people were here, not Lucius.

The revelation making him stand a little taller still, for Draco's sake, Harry tried to make the best impression he could as he and Tonks brought up the rear of the solemn procession that slowly made its way to the front of the room. All the way up the aisle, Harry kept his face front and tried not to think about all the people around him. He'd done this before, in awards' ceremonies, and he knew how to make an impression, but it always made him uncomfortable. This time, it seemed an incredibly long way to the front.

When they reached the head of the gathering, the mourners placed the coffin down on another set of trestles and then the procession moved to seats in the front. Narcissa and Draco took the middle two chairs with the other two couples either side, and it was no accident that Harry and Andromeda immediately flanked the remaining Malfoys. Harry was glad when he found a hand in his as everyone sat down.  



	36. Laid to Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco plays the consummate host to the funeral guests, but laying his father to rest takes it toll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [beren_writes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/beren/pseuds/beren), my excellent beta reader

Harry watched the ceremony before him with a mixture of interest and discomfort. He was watching the coffin of his second worst enemy being adorned with spells and incantations apparently, if he was translating the Latin correctly, to speed Lucius Malfoy to eternal rest. Harry wasn't sure what Draco's family actually believed about eternity, but in his own heart he was having difficulty wishing his torturer well in the next life. Still, he was sat next to the man's son, so he kept his thoughts to himself; he held his expression in neutral and made sure the hold on Draco's hand was not cutting off circulation.

Draco, for his part, seemed to be doing the same, for very different reasons, and there had been little body language between the two youths throughout the entire ceremony, which to Harry seemed to last for an age. Only when the officiating wizards stepped away from the coffin did the situation change, and that was because one of them looked at Draco. The grip in Harry's loosened, and he too let go as Draco stood up. Harry squashed the instinct to get up and follow, dropping his hand to the edge of the chair and gripping that instead.

Draco walked up to a dais on which was stood a lectern. Harry could see edges of parchment already sitting on the holder, waiting for Draco, and he knew it was finally time for him to hear if his advice had been taken or not. The couple hadn't discussed the eulogy at all that morning, so Harry was not sure what to expect. His heart sank a little when he heard Draco's first words, "Lucius Malfoy was, in his earlier years, a good statesman."

Draco was looking out over the heads of all the people gathered in the room as he spoke the opening sentence, but then his gaze fell on Harry for a moment. Harry sat very still and waited for whatever emotion his loved-one was going to convey, and he was a little surprised when Draco smiled.

"However, you all know the public face of Lucius Malfoy, his successes and his failures," Draco spoke to the room more warmly, even as he kept his attention on Harry. "I do not intend to cover old ground today, in fact, I wish to share with you someone known to very few. I am not going to speak of the politician and fixer, nor of the diplomat. I am going to tell you about a man known only to myself and my mother: Lucius Malfoy, the devoted husband and father whom I loved very much."

Harry sank down into his chair as Narcissa glanced at him, a look of disquiet on her face: she clearly knew who had inspired such a personal speech. The move did not go unnoticed, and Harry felt attention from other quarters on him as well. Tonks patted his hand, and Andromeda must have done the same for her sister, because Narcissa shortly turned to her. Draco drew a short breath and then his gaze, at least, was gone, because he addressed the room properly again, "My father was a man of many talents and many interests, and business was very important to him, but when I was young, I never felt he wasn't there."

Draco was smiling again, and his eyes were damp, but Harry knew he was not going to cry, not in public.

"One of my clearest memories of his love for me, and his drive to protect his family was when I was five years old. My father was hosting a party for important financiers and my mother had told me not to go near this ballroom, but I was a wilful little tike even then."

Draco paused for the suitable titter to go round the room: Harry laughed too as he thought of Bunny expressing similar sentiments.

"I wanted to see what was going on, what was so important my father could not come and read me my bedtime story. It was midsummer, and the sun was still in the sky when I was sent to my bed, so I snuck out of the house and I went to a favourite place: that big oak tree out there."

Draco pointed out through the ranks of windows on the side of the ballroom, which let in the winter day, to a gnarled old tree that was standing bare in the wind.

"I climbed the tree, because I knew from up in its branches I could see everything that was going on in this room. But it had been raining earlier that day, the tree was slimy and I was in my slippers. I lost my footing and fell out of the tree. It was a long way down and I hit the ground hard and I screamed my lungs out. The House Elves were there almost as soon as I landed, and they could have dealt with me, but my father abandoned his guests. He came charging across the lawn, running so fast that I thought he was really angry with me, and I tried to sit up and get away, but he wasn't angry, he was beside himself with worry. He scooped me up into his arms and carried me straight back through all those financiers into the house and up to my room. I had broken my arm, and even after the healers had been called and had fixed the break, he refused to leave my room. He and my mother sat with me all night and were still there when I woke in the morning."

There was absolute silence behind him, and Harry sat very still, listening to the story that, like the one about the cloak, churned his insides to knots.

"I never knew what happened about the party," Draco shrugged, superficially nonchalant, and the power of his story evaporated into more titters.

Harry, however, did not relax: at his distance, he could see the effort it was taking for Draco to put on the performance. Like father like son, there were very few things that could take the politician out of Draco, and for the public and the press, he was balancing decorum and just a little of what was underneath with the iron will that had brought Harry out of his retreat that last Summer. Harry had to admire that strength, and he knew he would be lending his own before the day was over.

"I shall not bore you with more stories, but I hope I have given you a small insight into the man behind the Death Eater," Draco continued, and an intake of breath ran around the room. "My father was no saint, and he and I may not have agreed at the end of his life, but I loved him, and I miss him, and I will respect his memory for the rest of my life."

Silence fell as Draco looked over the gathered company, something of the Malfoy pride in his stare. Harry had no doubt Draco would be twice the statesman his father had been.

"Please be upstanding," Draco then directed, and the room rose to its feet as one. "Ancestral powers, I mourn my father here this day. With the right of our line, I ask that you bear him to his rest," Draco turned and spoke to the four shades that were still flanking the coffin.

Duly, the ornate box of dark wood and brass rose from the trestles, and, once more, the procession of six formed behind it. There were a set of glass doors to the left, leading out onto a patio, and a wind whipped up in front of the fey, throwing them open. Solemnly, the small group left the great and the good behind and headed out to what Harry only knew to be a family mausoleum.

There was no big building on the horizon, nothing but open garden rolling down to a lake at the bottom of a gentle incline, and as he walked out into inclement weather, Harry wondered how far they would be walking to place Lucius with his ancestors. However, the wind was not the last of the unseelie power that was in use that day, and what could have been a trick of the light immediately ahead of the coffin turned into a very definite shimmer. As the pall bearers stepped through, their burden began to fade, and then too did Narcissa and Draco, then Andromeda and Ted, and finally Harry felt a chill in his bones as he and Tonks walked into the enchantment.

It was not like the whirlwind of the floo network, Harry had little sense of travelling, but in two strides he stepped from pristine, springy lawn onto a firm, stone floor. The winter light was also replaced with the orange flickering of candles, and it took Harry's eyes a couple of seconds to adjust, to the point where he nearly walked into the back of Ted, who had stopped in front of him. As his vision righted itself, Harry looked up and around them, and his jaw dropped in awe.

This place was like no mausoleum he had ever seen: there were no ranks of coffins behind gratings like he'd seen in old horror movies on TV. They were standing in a cave whose ceiling disappeared up into inky darkness. The chill was from the still air around them, but there was no movement in it, and strangely, for a moment, after the stresses of the day so far, Harry felt at peace.

The fey mourners had paused to allow their human followers to regain their equilibrium, but in a few short moments, they began to walk down an aisle of candles that was clearly there to guide mortal eyes safely over the glistening floor. Tonks had quite a tight hold on Harry's arm at this point, and he could understand why: as his own shoes slipped on the ground, he felt for the accident prone young woman.

Still, the pair were upright when the pall bearers turned their burden sideways and lifted it up onto a large stone plinth that was surrounded on three sides by more candles. Narcissa and Draco came to a halt a few feet away from Lucius' final resting place, and Andromeda once again went to stand next to her sister, so Harry did the same on the other side beside Draco. In the privacy of the dark place, Harry slipped his arm around his loved-one's waist, and Draco leant into his without resistance: Draco was shaking.

"Husband," Narcissa began, her voice wavering, "my loves goes with you."

"Father," Draco took up the dismissal, his grief much clearer than it had been only minutes earlier, "may you find peace."

Harry knew something was coming, his fingers were itching madly and he could feel power on the air, but he sat on the tendrils of magic in his body that were trying to rise to join something ancient, and just hung onto Draco. After the instinct came a low rumbling that sent trembles up from the rock floor through Harry's legs. Then the candle flames around the coffin shot up into the air, lighting their vicinity brightly. The fey had what Harry thought were their arms lifted roofward, and the rumbling was coming from them. Again, he thought his eyes were deceiving him, but after a few seconds, Harry realised that the hunk of stone below the coffin was in fact moving like some great invisible hand was remoulding clay.

Over the rumbling, Harry heard Narcissa begin to weep, and he felt Draco's shaking grow worse. Yet Draco was like a rock in an earthquake, rooted to the spot and rigid against the tremors, his muscles tight, holding Harry in position as well. So Harry watched, uncomfortable witness to the final rest of Lucius Malfoy, and he saw the rock slide up over the coffin, wrapping it in a sarcophagus of rough, protective limestone.

The final result was no pretty, carved box of stone, it was a strong, natural lump of rock, already glistening from the damp air around it and part of the great cave that had formed it. Their task complete, the mourners stopped their rumbling and dropped their hands to their sides. Only then did Draco move, and he made a stiff little bow.

"Thank you," both he and Narcissa intoned together.

Dismissed with gratitude, the fey presence swirled away into the darkness, leaving the humans to themselves. Only when they were gone did Draco let go, and then Harry found a man wrapped around him, face buried in his shoulder. Harry wrapped his loved-one in all the comfort he could, but his soul knew it would never be quite enough. Draco was silent, his shaking the only testament to his grief, but Narcissa's weeping became a wail as Andromeda too hugged her close.

* * *

By the time the small group left the cave by the same vortex through which they had entered, both Narcissa and Draco were composed again, and Harry's magic had settled with them. They were no longer a procession as they walked across the patio, Harry stayed close to Draco, although he did not touch, and Andromeda was by her sister's side. Tonks and Ted seemed content in each other's company. The ballroom into which the group walked was no longer the regimented lines of seats, it had been transformed into a cocktail party of immense proportions. As soon as he set foot in the room, Harry saw Draco's face pick up the now familiar polite smile and he headed left to a group of strangers as Narcissa headed right.

Harry followed Draco, staying a couple of steps behind and to his right, far enough back that he hoped he'd be mostly ignored, but close enough that he could listen and also watch his loved-one's profile for any signs of his help being needed.

"Draco, my condolences," a woman greeted, who looked like she shouldn't have needed the handful of food she was gradually feeding into her face, "but a wonderful ceremony, and such a touching speech."

"Thank you, Madame Grandioser," Draco replied, smiling around at the other two men in the party as well. "I trust your journey here was uneventful."

The swift change of tack did not go unnoticed by Harry, who remembered Draco's erotically accompanied instructions for reasons other than their use in company.

"Dreadful weather," the gentleman to the Madame's left flicked his hand in such a way that Harry thought he probably wasn't the woman's husband. "And Muggles can be so haphazard when travelling in the rain."

"They do not have the benefit of magically enhanced vehicles, Lord Clemex," Draco tilted his head slightly, and actually sounded sympathetic, which made the lordling's eyebrows raise.

When a narrowed gaze hopped over him and then into a smile that was neither friendly, nor sincere, Harry guessed he was dealing with at the very least a Muggle hater, and probably a Death Eater. He smiled back, making sure his eyes hardened, and he took a small step closer to Draco's elbow. Before he realised it, Harry found himself being introduced.

"Madame and Mr Grandosier, Lord Clemex, this is my good friend, Harry Potter," Draco forced Harry the rest of the way into the loose circle of conversation with a definite emphasis on the words good and friend.

"How do you do?" Harry decided to put on the best behaviour that Aunt Petunia had always insisted on when he was allowed to give out h'or d'oeuvres at her garden parties.

"Charmed," the madame recovered first and smiled nervously, clearly ill at ease.

"Good to finally meet the young man behind the headlines," her husband seemed better prepared as Harry smiled at him, finding his face muscles beginning to fix into position.

Lord Clemex just nodded down his nose: Harry decided it was going to be a long party for everyone concerned.

* * *

Over the course of the dreary afternoon, Harry discovered that the small introduction to the Art of Conversation Draco had given him was invaluable, as most collections of guests contained at least one person who found him, as well as Draco, fascinating. Harry had little idea who anyone was, but as he had proved with the first group of people, Draco must have had the entire wizarding world memorized, and he did not fail to greet anyone by name.

Harry admired the poise and grace of his loved-one, but it also worried him as he realised there would be a cost. Despite his smile and engaging presence, Draco's skin was going greyer by the minute. What was worse, considering his low energy levels, Draco was not eating anything either, although the house elves were running around with platters of food that could have fed an army. Harry had managed to force the occasional morsel into Draco's hand, but it always seemed to disappear without Harry seeing it go into his loved-one's mouth. The only thing that made it past Draco's lips was the occasional sip of champagne, but even his glass was largely untouched.

Conversation did not really deviate from the first, revolving mainly around carefully worded consolations, or praise on the eulogy, occasionally swapping to a few feelers into the world of politics, which is where Harry found himself being asked questions. From what he could read between the lines, Harry gauged that the world in general thought that he had to have seduced Draco into betraying his father, which was close enough to the truth to make polite discussion come unstuck when Harry found his mind betraying him. No-one actually openly spoke about the rumours that clearly had finally spilled out of Hogwarts, except some heavy hints from Rita Skeeter, which Harry rapidly sat on. It was at times like those that Harry wished he'd been able to see more than that first copy of The Prophet since Lucius' Death, but Madame Pomfrey had declined to provide it, and there had been no chance since: well, there had been no chance for Harry, but Draco seemed to be more aware of things and Harry had made a mental note to ask him what he knew after the proceedings had finished.

The light luncheon dragged on into the afternoon, one hour, then two, then three before there was any sign of the crowds growing thinner. It took a further two hours for the room's occupants to diminish to stragglers and friends. Some press were still hanging around, including Rita, clearly trawling for any juicy titbits as some people revealed they'd had a few too many glasses of the freely flowing champagne, but at that point some looks passed between familiar faces which decided that it was the right time to leave the party.

Harry was flagging: he had no idea who the gushing woman in front of Draco was, since he had chosen to focus his failing energies on his loved-one, who looked like he might be joining his father any minute. Harry had been trying to get Draco out of the room for the last what seemed like forever, but there were just too many people between them and the doors. He was beginning to consider drastic, impolite measures that would have annoyed Draco when a voice behind him made him jump to attention.

"Draco, I am afraid there are some matters for your attention in the library," Professors Snape interrupted a particularly inane gush smoothly.

Draco turned with much more grace than Harry to find they were being flanked by Snape and Dumbledore. Harry had never been so relieved to see anyone, and it must have shown, because his headmaster smiled supportively at him, and Snape could barely hide his disdain. The slightly drunk young woman, who seemed unaware of the gossip that had to be in every newspaper in the land, did not notice Snape's attitude, and sighed her disappointment from where she was not hanging off Draco's arm.

"I do appologise, Ms Lewe," Draco played the gentleman, but Harry could hear the fatigue in his tone as rescue stood so close to them.

"We must talk again, Darling," came the response as Draco carefully extracted himself from her hold.

Draco just nodded to her, and Harry did the same: she scowled at him, but he had grown used to the mixture of responses from the gathered company. And finally, the foursome headed to the door.

After staring at faces only a few feet away for so long, Harry's distance vision was blurred, but, as he was steered towards the door by Dumbledore's hand under his elbow, he recognised the outlines of the Tonks family making the same manoeuvres for Narcissa Malfoy. There were a few more gracious goodbyes along the way, but in a few minutes the rescuers led their charges out of the ballroom and away up a back flight of stairs Harry hadn't known were there. He had no idea where they were going, but he was glad for the cooler, fresher air and then they all walked into a chamber lined with books and containing a half dozen high-backed, leather chairs, which he guessed was, as Snape had suggested, the library.

Narcissa's party were ahead of Draco's, and the woman sunk into the first chair she reached, a sigh on her lips. Draco reacted immediately, trying to break out of the group surrounding him and crossing to his mother. However, he had over estimated his stamina, and Harry saw Draco's legs going before the groan escaped the grey lips. Adrenalin was a wonderful rouser, and Harry reacted instantly with a lunge forward that enabled him to grab Draco before he descended to the ground, and Snape swiftly joined him: in a few seconds, Draco was sat in a chair opposite his mother with his head in his hands. Harry knelt in front of him while Snape asked urgently, "Draco, are you alright?"

"Bit woozy," Draco admitted, his words slurring.

"He was up all night and he hasn't eaten all day," Harry decided health came before any minor betrayal Draco could infer from such information.

As suspected, Draco glared through his fingers at Harry, but since his head showed no signs of rising and he said nothing, the snitch decided he had been in the right.

"I can say as much for my sister, as well," Andromeda informed the room, her tone disapproving, despite the fact that she was holding Narcissa's hand very tightly.

"It would appear that today, self-neglect is running in the family," Dumbledore observed, and the continued, "If I may be so bold as to suggest a light supper and then an early night for all."

Draco surprised Harry then, because, meekly, the Prince of Slytherin nodded. Then he leant back in his chair and closed his eyes.

"Since there seems to be no objections, Professor Snape and myself must take our leave," the old wizard announced, unexpectedly to all, including Snape if the look of annoyance on his face was anything to go by.

"Thank you for coming, Professors," Draco tried to be the good host, but his words were still slurred and he could not stand up.

Dumbledore raised his hand to the ill-advised attempts of Draco to move from his seat, and it became obvious to Harry why the insightful man had decided to go: neither Draco, nor Narcissa were going to relax with outsiders around. Harry knew he had crossed a line between family and outsider sometime that day, and his headmaster's choice underlined that step. Snape did not look happy about that, but it did not appear that Dumbledore wanted him to stay.

"Be well, Draco, Madame Malfoy," Dumbledore finished, as serene as usual.

"If you need anything," Snape nodded to Narcissa and then to Draco, for once his concern not hidden behind a sneer.

"Thank you," Narcissa seemed as determined as her son to be polite, despite her complexion being ghostly white.

Draco this time just nodded back.

"I'll show you out, then organise some supper," Andromeda took charge, and no-one was arguing.

* * *

Harry was very grateful for Andromeda's presence: she organised everything and left him to concentrate on Draco. Harry had placed himself on a cushion on the floor next to Draco's chair, not this time to play submission games, but so that he had a good view of his loved-one's half-bowed, sleepy head. Without anyone to be polite to anymore, Draco had entered into a kind of fugue state: he did as he was told when Harry handed him a sandwich and made sure he ate, and he answered questions about his health, but his exhaustion had taken over, and he offered nothing not asked of him. Narcissa was more lucid, but equally as docile as she obeyed the concern in her sister.

The Tonkses talked among themselves, but Harry didn't pay much attention, not until he passed Draco's and his plates over to Ted, who was stacking the empties and Andromeda told him, "I think it's time both of you found your beds."

At that suggestion, Draco did find enough energy to pay attention and all of it went to his mother, his concern obvious.

"We are staying the night," his aunt immediately reached out to Draco and patted his hand reassuringly. "I will make sure you mother gets to bed as well: best thing all round."

With that reassurance, Draco was once again a puppet in Harry's hands, and with only a nod of goodnight to the remaining company, he guided Draco to his feet and towards the prospect of a soft bed.

* * *

Finding the bedroom took a little bit of interpolation on Harry's part, and he wasn't sure they'd taken the most efficient route, but Draco was in no state to complain. Harry brought them to a halt in the middle of the open space between the door and the bed, took one look at the vacancy in Draco's eyes and decided that he was going to have to do most of the undressing. A few weeks ago, that prospect had been exciting and arousing, but now a whole different set of emotions accompanied Harry's thoughts as his heart went out to his loved-one.

"Okay, you concentrate on staying upright and I'll get your clothes off," Harry informed his charge.

That did bring a curl of lip and a snort, which made Harry glad Draco was still inside the failing shell, but the wobble that followed told him that his loved-one's stamina was not going to last much longer. Harry began where he had on New Year's eve, with Draco's jacket, but this time it was no frenzy that almost ripped it off, instead, careful fingers undid buttons and then, with a shrug from Draco, the item was in Harry's hands; he placed it carefully on a nearby chair.

Draco, as usual in his formal attire, was wearing knee-high laced boots, so Harry turned his attention to those as most complicated. He sunk to his knees and held out his hands: his magic rushed through him and with satisfaction, he watched the laces slide undone. With his magic so close, there were twinges of libido in his actions, but Harry concentrated on the job in hand this time. His magic was busy pulling laces out of loops when Draco's thin voice surprised him with, "Harry, do you love me?"

The question was so out of the blue and so sensitive that Harry's defences came out, not in denial, but in the quip, "You think I'm doing this out of moral obligation?"

Silence in response, and ruffled enough not to look up, Harry continued to unlace the boots.

"Harry?" Draco's voice this time was more desperate, and guilt about the way he had responded welled up in Harry.

"Of course I do," he was more direct this time, and he stood up to look into Draco's face.

Draco's gaze was open and scared and needy; this was not an idle enquiry, Harry knew that. He had told his friends of his commitment to Draco, he had shown it in his actions, but he knew he was placing a line under his feelings in those few moments. Harry stood in front of his lover, the man who had risked everything for him, and he could see the pain and conflict he had caused, however indirectly. Harry reached up and cupped the side of Draco's face in his palm, and he told him, "Yes, Draco, I love you."

The relief in his loved-one was instant, and it was the straw that broke the camel's back. Draco blinked, his eyes damp, but his fear gone, and his shoulders dropped. The uncertainty had to have been the only thing keeping him upright, because Harry saw him begin to fail. Quickly, Harry wrapped Draco in all the physical and emotional support he could: Draco sagged into his arms, all strength gone.

"Not been taking care of yourself, Draco?" Harry decided to tease a little, and from the barely coherent snigger in his ear, he knew that Draco had recognised the quip from the encounter that had begun all this. "We're going to the bed."

Draco could still walk, just not with much coordination, and so it was a slow path they took to the edge of the bed. Harry managed to get his charge sat down without falling over himself and then, making sure Draco was staying upright, he went back to the boots.

There was no more need for conversation: Harry was content with the tingly warm feeling that was running all over his body after the confirmation Draco had drawn out of him, and Draco seemed content to submit himself to Harry's care. Boots, socks, trousers, shirt, all came off slowly, but Harry discovered that the responsibility he had taken on was much more important to him than any libidinal impulses revealing Draco gave him.

Once Draco was down to his boxers, Harry began to look around for night clothes.

"Where are your pyjamas?" he asked, standing up to go and retrieve them.

"Don't have any," Draco replied, a strange little grin on his face.

"You didn't bring any with you? Don't you have any spare here?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Only wear them at school," Draco shrugged, his grin growing even if his eyes weren't completely focused. "Haven't worn anything at home since I was twelve, much more comfortable."

That thought would have normally pushed all of Harry's buttons, but for now, he just snorted his opinion and stood Draco up. He took hold of the waistband of Draco's boxers to be as efficient as he had been with his other clothing, but fingers settled round his and Draco leant into him, his grin still all over his face.

"Are you trying to start something, Malfoy?" Harry teased at the amorous advance.

"What if I am?" Draco returned, hovering close to Harry's mouth.

"Then I'll remind you that you can barely stand up," Harry chuckled as he made the observation.

Still, he took a little of the advantage he had been given, running his hands under the soft jersey of Draco's pants and over his lover's buttocks: Draco purred and leant his head onto Harry's shoulder. Being so close to his lover was a very nice feeling, and his groin offered to follow-through, but Harry knew only too well that they were both too tired to take the encounter anywhere, so after a few moments of indulgence, he pushed the fabric down off Draco's body and then leant forward until his partner took the hint and flopped backwards onto the mattress. Harry was well practised in removing Draco's clothes, and his boxers were off his legs in seconds, but this time, Harry did not pounce on the naked flesh he revealed.

Draco was looking up at him, trying to stay amorous, but the emotion was fading in the face of exhaustion, and so Harry directed, "Get into bed."

Harry grinned as Draco pouted at the order, and then he patted his companion's knee as he prompted, "You'll fall asleep where you are if you don't."

For once, Draco decided to be practical and obeyed the instruction, turning over and crawling up the bed. He had just about managed to get the covers out of his way in order to slide under them by the time Harry had stripped himself. Harry glanced at his own pyjamas, which he'd thrown across a chair that morning, and which one of the house elves had neatly folded sometime during the day, and then he looked back at firm arse disappearing below the sheets.

"When in Rome," he muttered to himself, the thought of being flesh to flesh with Draco being rather appealing, and the pyjamas stayed on the chair.

Harry slid into his side of the bed, but quickly moved to the centre, where Draco was slowly making himself comfortable. Draco was not all lust, the momentary advance had only hidden the vulnerabilities still raw in his psyche, and Harry saw them as his loved-one's face turned to him. Harry quickly lay down on the pillows and very deliberately pulled Draco into his body. No more need for talking, no more sexual impulses, in seconds, Draco was spooned against Harry and lying in his arms. That was it, stamina gone, and Harry watched as Draco relaxed and his grey eyes closed.  
  



	37. Moving On: Lover and Loved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life must go on, and Draco and Harry must find their way through it - together?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [beren_writes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/beren/pseuds/beren), my excellent beta reader

Harry woke only once that night: as it had in the cottage, his body woke him up, reminding him that he had done none of the normal preparations he usually made before going to bed and telling him that he needed to answer a call of nature. However, as he slowly came round from a dream that was insisting he head to the bathroom, he discovered that he was still wrapped protectively around Draco. His loved-one was more loosely held than when he had fallen asleep, but the couple were still spooned together. For a while, Harry lay still, resisting nature and listening to the deep, even breathing of his partner. Sometime during the night, the clouds had gone and the moon was out, lighting the room in silver, and Harry watched Draco's calm profile, enjoying the peace after the trials of the previous day.

However, eventually, nature won, and Harry began to carefully extract himself from the embrace. Draco murmured as Harry slid his arm out from under his loved-one's neck, but showed no more signs of rousing. Regretting having to lose the closeness, even for the few minutes it took him to dash to the loo, Harry quickly returned to the warm bed. He slid under the warm covers, away from the slightly chill air of the night time house, and back to the centre of the bed. Even with a cold body next to him, Draco did not wake, in fact, with a small frown on his face, at which Harry had to smile, Draco moved unconsciously back into the close proximity Harry had left. Harry was only too willing to re-accommodate the shift and wrapped his arm back over his loved-one.

* * *

The next time Harry woke, it was to an altogether different call of nature: his groin was throbbing, and his libido had discovered he had a lot more energy. The reason for his bodily reaction became obvious when Harry opened his eyes. He was alone on the bed, sprawled across a warm spot beside him, and the person who had been in it was standing at the bathroom door, his stance less than innocent.

Draco walked through bright morning sunshine as he crossed back to the bed, and the light par-blinded Harry, but he sat up to greet his partner. He was ready for a shove or drag into an embrace, which was normal for their aggressive attitude to sex, but what Harry was given was a man kneeling next to him, stopping inches from his face. This was something different, no less intensity, Harry could feel Draco's desire in the way he was holding himself, but there was no demand.

"May I make love to you?" Draco asked.

For a second, Harry didn't realise a question had been asked, it was so unexpected. Then it didn't make sense: he had already consented to sex by meeting his lover halfway, but finally, after his heart had skipped a beat, the significance of the enquiry hit home. Draco was not asking for sex. Harry knew he had been reclassified in Draco's analytical mind, and he was instantly indignant that he had had to change categories, it was too Slytherin for him. Yet in another skipped heartbeat, he realised that he had done the same thing to Draco, only it had happened much earlier. He had been a lover, a sexual plaything for an experienced seducer, but now Harry could see by the look in Draco's eyes that he was much more difficult to classify.

"Yes," he replied to the request as both lover and loved.

Draco closed the gap between them instantly, and Harry went with the push of lips that sent him back down onto the mattress. Draco's touch was insistent, but not demanding, and Harry realised he was leading when it was his own stroke of tongue on lip that opened his loved-one's mouth to him. The couple pressed close, blankets between them, and Harry took all Draco had to give through the press of mouths, desires building that he had had no idea he had been suppressing in such quantities.

Harry broke the kiss, gasping as the power of his passions took him by surprise. Draco stayed close, absorbing Harry's shudders and involuntary movements into his body until the pique had passed. Only when Harry was relaxed again, looking up at him did Draco speak, and he smiled as he told Harry, "Trust me."

Draco was many things in the bedroom, but trustworthy had never been one of them in Harry's experience. Sex had always been a game, a contest of display and gratification. But this was not just sex.

"I trust you," he agreed.

A quick brush of lips sealed the promise, and then Draco shifted off of Harry, picking up something from the bedside table that Harry couldn't see. Then Draco settled kneeling beside him, wand in hand. Draco whispered a command and then Harry shivered as the covers slowly began to slide down off of his body. Harry was already erect thanks to the rush of his libido to catch up with the last few days of abstinence and he flexed his hips up against the cloth that teased his arousal. His dick was weeping by the time the sheets cleared his groin, and the way Draco focused on his display only sped Harry towards the point of no return.

The bed clothes continued their descent and another couple of spells, probably cleansing by the way they tingled, ran over Harry's body, and Draco's if his shifts were anything to go by, but both young men were already centred on Harry's erection. Draco discarded his wand and displayed his capacity for tease, as, with a smile on his face, he leant down and placed his mouth on Harry's nearest hip bone. Harry tipped his head back, closed his eyes and groaned as the stroke of lips and then dab of tongue was just enough to send shudders through his body, it didn't help Harry's control when Draco's hair fell over the head of his cock.

Draco continued to kiss Harry's hip, much to the distraction of every nerve fibre in the vicinity, and Harry was more than willing to part his legs when fingers ran up his inner thigh. He panted when those same stroking tips played over his balls and reared into the touch when hot mouth finally encircled his rock-hard dick. Tongue, lips and teeth worked his arousal and fingers massaged his balls: Harry didn't last long. Draco swallowed him as he came, for as long as the heady feeling lasted, and only when Harry sunk into the mattress, his muscles momentarily turning to water, did Draco release him.

Harry had kept his eyes closed, losing himself in the sensation, and he only opened them again as the bed shifted and he found himself straddled across his hips by his lover. Draco began stroking Harry's pecs and, still smiling, asked Harry, "How was that for starters?"

Harry reached up and ran his fingers over his partner's prominent nipples, making him draw in a hasty breath, and replied, "You have my attention, but I hope it won't all go that fast."

Draco chuckled and observed, his tone thick with potential, "Oh, there's plenty we can do while you recover."

"I trust you," Harry repeated and then pulled his lover down for another embrace.

* * *

Harry had lain submissive to his Draco's wishes on many occasions, mostly when tied, or so distracted that he had no choice. However, this time he followed where his lover led without coercion. Draco's kisses and stroking made his body sing, no tricks or magic needed, and it had taken very little instruction for Draco to tempt Harry onto his side and then onto his front in an arrangement of pillows and body which made his partner's intentions obvious.

A tongue in the small of his back made Harry murmur his desire, and then followed by teeth, he was in ecstasy. His lover had explored all over his body, and there was not much untouched territory left, but the way fingers were kneading his arse, Harry knew the final charting was not far away. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and looked over his shoulder down at the Adonis between his legs, whose smouldering gaze stared back at him from just above his back.

Draco's face was hovering so close to his skin, Harry could feel the quick, excited breaths coming from his lover's mouth. Draco was hard, had been for what could have been hours for all Harry had tracked, but it had to have been long enough to have been distracting him. Harry wanted that wood inside him, and hoped his look said that, but he did not force the issue: he had been asked to trust, and he would not demand or cajole as was his usual habit when he wanted something from his lover. Draco's only response was to kiss the base of his spine again, and as his own passions told him they were regrouping in his groin, Harry lowered himself back onto the pillows.

Mouth and tongue slowly slid lower and when palms parted his buttocks, Harry's anticipation ran an amorous riot through his whole body. In the past, Draco had used toys, fingers, and spells to prepare him, but when tongue pressed against his entrance, Harry knew why the slippery sensation had reduced Draco to putty. He moaned, long and loud, as hot, damp muscle flicked and insinuated itself against his own. The mixture of touches urged him to relax and tense in equal measure, and his whole body reacted. Draco was more prepared than he had been back at the cottage, and hands held Harry down, the weight of Draco's upper body stopping him from bucking too strongly.

Draco plundered his entrance until Harry thought he couldn't bear the wonderfully slick rimming any longer. Ecstasy couldn't have been any better, that was until Harry felt cock push against his relaxed muscles. Instantly, he pressed back against the motion and he released the same kind of wanton groan he had heard from Draco's mouth when their positions had been reversed. He arched his back and tipped his head up, letting his sound reverberate off the headboard. He always wanted Draco, but the intense preparation had left Harry with sensations that only his partner's dick could satisfy and he took all of him in one steady movement.

The couple held still for a few heady moments, no need for dominance or games, and only when Harry dropped his head back between his arms and relaxed a little did Draco shift his own position. Draco moved slowly, waking more pleasure centres in Harry as he twisted his hips and played Harry with a finesse the Gryffindor knew he would never have. Each push or pull against his muscles was meant for him, and Harry accepted all, returning what he could as he intermittently caught his lover within him. Opportunistic, antagonist sex could be fun, but pleasure this time did not extend merely to Harry's body as he shared the experience openly with his partner.

When Draco reached orgasm, the strength of it flowed through Harry, and he followed, the sensation rather taking him by wonderful surprise. His magic too became caught in the intense, whole body high, and the wave of pleasure went from physical, right into the centre of his being; sharing that feeling was not a choice, it was an imperative, and almost instantly, Freehand magic joined with the wizard in Draco as well. Harry heard a laugh as the power ran through the couple, and he was so disconnected from the world that it took him a moment to realise it was his own. He was open and vulnerable to his partner and it was the most wonderful feeling he had ever had.

Sustaining a magical and physical high could not last forever, but the eddies of magic and orgasm dissipated slowly, slipping away and leaving Harry tingling all over. Draco remained intimate with him as they both came down from the experience. Eventually, Harry relaxed all the way back to ground, and sighed as Draco withdrew. He was grinning all over his face as he rolled over, away from the sticky mess he had left on the pillow below his belly, and looked up at his kneeling lover, whose eyes were also sparkling.

* * *

The morning sun was high in the sky by the time the partners had satisfied their love-making to the point of it becoming gentle petting, but even then, Draco did not seem to be able to leave Harry alone for more than a few seconds at a time. Harry was not objecting and he was lying on his front, propped up on his elbows and accepting another caress on his left shoulder when Draco paused. Harry glanced up at the interruption in the nice sensations and saw a curious look on his companion's face.

"What is it?" he asked, slightly defensively as he caught sight of the edge of the new scarring on his shoulder and wondered if it had taken Draco all this time to notice it.

His lover's instant response was to look guilty, but Harry continued to stare his question until Draco smiled and told him, "I just noticed, you have a dragon on your shoulder."

For a moment Harry tried to get a better look at the place where Draco's fingers were stroking, but his neck wouldn't twist that far, so he gave up, feeling a little foolish and not very sure of himself.

"It's head is here," Draco described, rubbing the base of Harry's neck, "with flames out of its mouth round here," to the nape, "and its tail is draped down here," the stroke of fingers was visible to Harry as Draco ran over the part of his shoulder that he could see.

"You must have some imagination," Harry couldn't help sounding a little derogatory as he thought about the damage he had suffered. "Madame Pomfrey didn't say it looked like anything."

"Do you mind what I see?" Draco asked, clearly having noted Harry's discomfort.

Harry sighed: it was a small sensitivity in the scheme of things, and he decided eventually, "Not really."

Draco kissed his shoulder again, and Harry might have settled back into the pleasant petting, but the unexpected interruption in the relaxing morning brought up thoughts that he asked before sense got the better of him.

"Is it really true that you have an unseelie princess in your ancestry?"

Draco sat back and Harry rolled onto his side to get a clearer look at the reaction he had caused. He judged that it was a mild disquiet, like his own, and so he waited to see if it would pass.

"Yes," Draco confirmed and then asked, "Who told you?"

"Tonks," Harry replied, deliberately avoiding the context in which the information had been given.

However, that context was clearly visible in Draco's expression for a moment, and Harry wondered if he'd ruined a wonderful morning. Shortly, though, Draco relaxed, and he even smiled as he offered, "According to family legend, she was incredibly beautiful, it's where the propensity for white-blond hair and pale eyes come from, but she was also quite a handful for her husband, highly strung and mischievous."

"Doesn't sound like anyone I know," Harry teased.

"Hey!" Draco objected and Harry found himself flattened onto his back with his lover on top of him.

The press of bodies did not inspire the tussle in Harry that Draco had intended, instead, Harry moulded to him and drew him into a kiss, which put an end to any indignation very swiftly. However, the intimacy did not create the prolonged tryst that Harry was after, either, because after a few moments, Draco drew back. The seriousness in his companion's face made Harry pause and then he was told openly, "Fey blood in our line is also purported to be the reason why every few generations we go mad."

Harry knew what was coming, and he didn't try to stop it, he just waited until, his pain obvious, Draco admitted to him, "My father was a madman, and I nearly let him do the same to me."

That last part was a shock to Harry, and it must have shown, because Draco brushed his face and continued, "I wouldn't even talk to Professor Snape. I really wanted to kill you that day outside the Great Hall."

"The feeling was mutual," Harry replied, deciding that matter-of-fact was better than trying to be tactful. "If the others hadn't stopped us, I think we would have."

"Do we really make a good combination?" Draco questioned, his confidence clearly lacking.

At that, Harry laughed, and commented, "Only a Slytherin would ask that while in bed with the person he's asking."

The humour was lost on Draco, his testing of the choices that had been made was an honest one, and so Harry straightened and told him, "When I decided I loved you, I didn't want to believe it. You were making my life pure hell at the time, but I ran out of other excuses. I don't think we're a perfect match, but for some reason, Merlin only knows why, I care about you and I don't want to let you go."

Draco seemed to accept the open admission, but there was still doubt in his face. Harry knew he was dealing with the part of his companion that calculated odds, and the logical part of him knew that theirs shouldn't have been good. Yet, Harry wasn't dealing in logic or odds, he was working with feelings and what his heart and body told him was meant to be, and so he backed up his own thoughts with, "Godric suggested it was opposites attracting and then told me he and Salazar had done the same thing."

Draco's eyebrows hit his hairline at that revelation and Harry laughed at what could scandalise a Slytherin.

"We're following in time-honoured tradition," he quipped, and planted a quick kiss on Draco's nose.

* * *

Morning had meandered in to afternoon by the time anything outside their tryst touched the amorous couple; Draco's concern for his mother's wellbeing had encroached on the indulgent atmosphere and Harry had led the way to the bathroom. The youths did not, however, hurry a shower and even when clean, dressing started only slowly.

Harry pulled on a new pair of jeans with care, knowing, even with his back momentarily to Draco, that he was being watched as he moved. He slid the denim up his legs and flexed as he eased it into place over his arse. He smiled to himself as he heard his partner approach, more than satisfied that his display had been noted. He took in a deep, appreciative breath as palms stroked round his still naked torso, pulling him back against Draco's warm, smooth chest, and then his sound became a gasp as his still unfastened flies were parted and Draco ran one hand down into his boxers. Harry shuddered at the direct approach and Draco squeezed what he found, just a little, as he teased, "You shouldn't go flirting like that if you don't expect a response."

Harry rumbled his approval of the easy play, tipping his head back onto Draco's shoulder and enjoying the stroking. Draco's lips touched the 'dragon' scar for the umpteenth time since he'd pointed it out, and Harry was in heaven. However, the moment was not to last, because, just as Harry was wondering if his jeans were going to descend back down his legs, the intimate encounter was interrupted by a light rap on the door. Harry started at the unexpected sound, and Draco hrmphed, but it took them a few seconds to respond any more. In fact, it wasn't until there was a second knock that Draco called, "Just a minute," and reluctantly withdrew his hand from Harry's trousers.

Quickly, Harry zipped up his jeans, but Draco did not seem as concerned that he was still only wearing his underwear as he called, "Come in."

Harry was mostly expecting Tatty when she appeared around the door that was huge in comparison to her: he had been getting used to seeing the industrious little House Elf all over the Manor. She looked a little nervous as she stepped into the room fully and bowed before she began, "Begging your pardons, Sirs, but the Mistress is wondering if Master Draco and Harry Potter will be attending luncheon in the Orangery."

"Thank you, Tatty," Draco replied, which seemed to be the creature's cue to straighten from her bow.

Draco glanced at Harry, who suddenly remembered his stomach was empty and nodded, and so he finished the answer, "We will be down shortly."

* * *

All the way down the stairs and then towards yet another part of the house Harry hadn't seen Harry found Draco's hands wandering all over him, and they stopped quite a few times when the groping got the better of their journey. Harry was glad Draco's spirits were higher than he'd seen them in days, and he was also gratified to be the major source of that lift, but that didn't mean he wasn't still watching carefully for any signs of the rocky road he knew was ahead.

The pair walked through an atrium with tiles on the floor and then headed down a set of steps into what Harry thought looked like a very large conservatory. All that was left of the compulsory touching was one hand in another, and Harry was expecting Draco to drop the hold in the presence of company, but he was pleasantly surprised when fingers remained curled around his own. The openness of the moment reiterated the warm feeling in Harry and he was smiling to himself as they came into view of a perfectly presented lunch table set for six.

Not unexpectedly, the youths were the last to arrive; Narcissa and the Tonkses were already seated and from the more natural smile on her face, Harry gauged that it was both Draco and his mother whose outlook had brightened. That expression slipped momentarily when their presence was noted and Narcissa's gaze skipped over the couple; Draco had to have registered the reaction, because his grip flexed in tandem. However, any futher reaction was diverted when Ted greeted jovially, "Hello there, Sleepy Heads."

"Good afternoon, Uncle," Draco returned, and then nodded to the rest of the Tonkses with, "Aunt, Tonks."

Before Harry could join in, Narcissa held out her hand to her son. Harry wasn't sure if the move was devisive to end the hand holding, or if it was out of pure motherly love, but he would not have had Draco deny Narcissa anything anyway, so he freely let go of the fingers curled round his and let Draco head up to the other end of the table. Harry didn't ignore the moment as a potential problem however, and as he took his seat opposite Tonks, he watched the Malfoys closely.

"Mother," Draco began, wrapping the seated woman in a gentle hug. "How are you?"

"Darling," the doting female replied, and there was sentiment behind it that told Harry there was no falsehood involved, at least none he could discern. "I'm fine. Did you sleep well?"

Draco drew back and nodded much more freely than he would have yesterday morning. The rest of the conversation between parent and child was said silently in looks of concern that were in turn answered with smiles of reassurance. The worst was over for Draco, Harry could see that, but there were emotions still in his face, grief and hurt, that would take longer to fade. Yet neither Malfoy showed signs of the overwhelming stress of the funeral, so the greeting came to an end, and Draco walked back up to Harry's end of the table and took his place at its head.

As soon as Draco was seated, Tatty and two other elves came dashing out from behind large plant pots carrying trays of food. In the presence of food, Harry's stomach rumbled loud enough for everyone to hear. Harry was surprised when it was Narcissa who made comment with, "Well, it seems there is at least one good appetite at this table."

"Oh there's more than one," Andromeda joined in with a knowing smile, and she was looking at her husband at the time.

"Nothing wrong with a healthy appetite," Ted bantered easily back, slapping his stomach.

"Of course not," Narcissa agreed with a light laugh that made Harry forget his concerns for now. "Bon apetite."

The hostess raised her glass, and, glad that things were settling down, Harry joined in with the others in returning the salute.

* * *

Lunch coasted along gently, conversation mundane and ignorable, so much so that Harry felt free enough to mainly sit and observe the family around him. Ted, after the rocky start, seemed to be a hit with the Malfoys, but Harry wasn't sure if he was an exception, or a rule in the new scheme of things at the Manor. Harry was not naïve enough to expect generations of pure blood attitude to change over night, or in some cases at all, but seeing the two Black sisters chatting and sharing family anecdotes meant Harry was hopeful for the future.

His own relationship with Narcissa was something Harry was not sure about. She was pleasant to him, but their conversation over tea two days ago had coloured his perception of the woman, and he did not know how much discomfort was being covered by the normal Malfoy mask. Still, there wasn't anything he could do about that, and so Harry did not dwell. He was in good company, and so he just enjoyed the easy pace of the afternoon.

They were all sipping tea after the light meal when the pace took a very small step up. Narcissa put down her cup and, looking at Draco, told him, "It is such wonderful weather today, and this morning, Annie and I were discussing a trip round the estate."

"We would all love to see it," Andromeda agreed, reaching out to her husband and daughter. "It's been so long since I was here, and Ted and Dorie haven't ever had the chance. Harry, how about you?"

Harry had seen quite a lot of the house by now, but he had only seen brief glances of the land outside, and so he was more than willing to embark of such a tour.

"That would be great," he agreed.

Draco looked like he was considering something for a moment, and then he nodded and offered, "The best way to see the most would be on horseback."

Ted and Tonks look aghast: Harry might have been with them, but after a Hippogryph and a Threstral, he thought he could manage a normal horse. Andromeda laughed at the response, patting both of the hands she had found and told them, "Don't look so scared."

"Never been on one in my life," Ted admitted with a shrug, but a smile began playing at his mouth that suggested he wasn't all that bothered. He confirmed this by saying, "I'm game if you can bare to teach an old dog a new trick."

Tonks did not look so convinced, and it was her father who goaded, "Now, Dorie, you're not scared of a horse are you, Love?"

Tonks was always so laid back, Harry had never seen her ruffle before, but it appeared Ted could needle where others couldn't. The young woman raised her eyebrows at her father and told him, "Wouldn't miss seeing you fall off for anything."

Ted snorted, but Andromeda interrupted any repartee before it could get going by glancing at Harry and asking, "Are you okay with horses, Harry?"

Harry shrugged and replied, "I've ridden a hippogryph and a threstral, so I think I'll be okay."

Andromeda's expression said she was impressed. However, Harry noted a cast of Malfoy eyes that told him the associations with both events were too close to Lucius, so he diverted quickly, "So you have enough horses for all of us?"

The Black sisters looked at each other, sharing a moment Harry didn't understand, and then they both began giggling like schoolgirls. By the looks on everyone else's faces, they had no clue either, so Harry just waited as Ted prompted, "Care to explain that one?"

The two women politely coughed their way to silent smiles for a few more moments and the Narcissa rolled her eyes, again in a very girly manner as she explained, "I and Annie have always been rather horse-mad, even more so when we were younger, and when I was first courting Lucius, we used to joke that I only liked him because I'd seen his family's stables."

The family joke obviously brought back good memories for the two women, because they continued to smile at each other, sharing unspoken thoughts. It was good to hear Lucius mentioned without a tear from Narcissa, and Harry filed the information away in association with all the new things he had learnt about the Malfoys over the last few days. He also checked to see how Draco was reacting to the disclosure. Draco was smiling in a mildly bemused way which was very similar to Tonks' expression, which made Harry wonder if his look was the same as well, since the amount of amusement being generated between the sisters did seem over the top.

"A hack it is then," Draco finalised the discussions and moved the lunch along.

* * *

Having only ridden animals bareback, Harry took a little while to become accustomed to an English saddle: in his opinion, it was designed to make it even easier to fall off his mount. However, he was not as green as Ted and Tonks, and after the complexities of Hippogryph interaction, he developed a rapport with the horse that Draco had chosen for him fairly easily. Andromeda and Narcissa, both clearly experienced horsewomen, took one each of the virgin horse-riders under their charge, leaving Draco and Harry to lead their party.

The wind was stiff, but the day was bright, and in what seemed like very little time, Harry found himself in the middle of the pastures of a country estate. Narcissa and Draco had been taking it in turns to introduce landmarks around their home. Harry was stunned and a little awed by the opulence that surrounded him: he had known the Malfoys were wealthy, but the sheer size of their lands put the fortune into perspective. Old money had been built on, generation by generation.

"Do you like it?" Draco asked Harry, drawing him out of the silent contemplation that his surroundings had inspired in him.

Harry blinked at the enquiry for a moment, coming back to himself and noted in a glance that he and Draco were now about a hundred yards ahead of the others. He brought his horse to a stop and looked properly at his loved-one.

"It's beautiful," he replied, taking another gaze across a long valley, which dropped away to their left. Then he took a deep breath and made an observation that had been bothering him since he had realised the immensity of the Malfoy estate, "I still don't understand why you care so much about finishing school, not with all this behind you."

Draco smiled and told him, "It is because of all this that I do care. I have a responsibility to my ancestors to make sure that I am fit to take it on."

Harry had always known that status and position were important to Draco, but he was only slowly beginning to realise that such ambition was not just conceit. Harry was a leader by luck, Draco had been born to it.

"We have four tenant farms, two orchards and quite a few small-holdings," Draco continued to explain, and he wasn't boasting. "We have an estate manager to run it all, but ultimately, their well-being is down to me now."

Harry glanced at his loved-one's profile; Draco was gazing out at the horizon and his face was serious. There were so many things he had not and still did not understand about the proud Prince of Slytherin. Harry had always imagined Draco would become some sort of rich playboy, wasting his time and his money on having fun and dabbling in politics to the detriment of everyone else: in the perspective of Malfoy Manor, that was clearly not the case.

"I had no idea," Harry admitted, looking to the horizon as well, to try and see what Draco was seeing.

"Not many people do," Draco replied, and there was an edge to his voice as he quipped, "I did not rely on my family's money to build my reputation at Hogwarts."

"But it helped," Harry prodded back, not taking the comment as completely true.

Draco's eyes flashed and he sat straighter on his horse as Harry challenged his ego. Harry smiled when he was glared at, which didn't improve matters, but he wasn't going to let Draco get away with everything.

"You're very attractive when you're annoyed," he niggled some more at the haughty stare he was being given, grinning now.

For a moment, Harry wasn't sure if Draco was going to gallop off in a huff, but he was Gryffindor, and stubborn with it, so he just grinned.

"You know, you can't scare me with that glare anymore," he continued to tease, leaning over a little towards his companion, "and it won't last long with everyone else either."

Suspicion entered Draco's gaze them, but he still said nothing, feathers ruffled like any strutting peacock. Harry was enjoying the lightness of his own mood after the heavy emotions of what seemed like forever. Despite the heartache of the last few weeks, the future was looking much brighter, if somewhat complicated.

Harry paused for effect, making his loved-one wait for whatever revelation he was delivering, and Draco did indeed wait, the edge of his pride softened a little by curiosity. Harry couldn't resist the warm feeling inside that his thoughts gave him, and he reached out, patting Draco's arm playfully as he eked the ribbing out with, "Y'know, after all this very unSlytherin self-sacrifice, you've even got first years worried about you."

Draco's glare was somewhere between disgust and disbelief, but his eyes were wide with it, and Harry could see a spark of something else, a shock and a warmth below the natural Slytherin disdain, which Draco was doing his best to hide. Harry leant a little closer to his loved-one still, focusing solely on that glimmer of the future, and finally delivered his scandalous message in a whisper: "Remember, Draco, you're a hero now."  



End file.
